


Only Fools Rush In

by Rose_SK



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Good Parent Jaskier | Dandelion, Kaer Morhen, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Parent-Child Relationship, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Protective Eskel (The Witcher), Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Eskel (The Witcher), Spoilers, The Amazing Devil Lyrics, Timeline What Timeline, Wolf Pack, Yuletide, child fic, not beta read we die like witchers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:02:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 91,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27106159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_SK/pseuds/Rose_SK
Summary: Jaskier is on the run from Dijkstra's men, and he only has one goal in mind - get himself and his daughter Erica to safety.There's no safer place on the Continent than Kaer Morhen, home to the wolf witchers. Jaskier knows they'll be safe there. The only problem? Jaskier and Geralt haven't spoken since the incident on the mountain, and Jaskier doesn't know if he'll be welcome at the witchers' keep.In comes Eskel, who accepts to help Jaskier and Erica get to safety. In Jaskier's eyes, it's a foolproof plan. What could possibly go wrong?
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 123
Kudos: 346





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a self-indulgent Jaskier/Eskel story, because life has been crap and what do we do when life is crap? That's right, you plan a multi-chaptered fic with lots of fluff, a hint of angst and, of course, lots of cuddly witchers <3

**Chapter 1**

“Are we almost there, daddy?” a small voice mumbled sleepily, the question nearly lost over the splashing sound of a nearby stream running its course from the Blue Mountains pass into the nearby Lixela river.

“Almost, dear heart,” Jaskier replied as he spied the city gates of Ard Carraigh in the distance, “you’ll soon be able to rest in a real bed after we’ve had a real meal, how does that sound?”

The young girl perked up at her father’s words, although the long yawn that pushed past her lips did not go unnoticed by Jaskier. He pulled her closer to his body with one hand while still loosely holding the reins of their horse Pegasus with the other. The girl instantly went slack in her father’s embrace, her eyes fluttering shut as Jaskier began humming a lullaby. She needed the rest more than Jaskier did. He himself would not be able to sleep until he knew for certain that they were as far away as possible from Dijkstra and his men. Ard Carraigh would not be the end of their journey, not if Jaskier could help it.

“Daddy?”

“What is it, Erica?”

“Sing the coin song!”

Jaskier smiled softly at the request – or rather, the demand. Even though he and Geralt had not spoken in five years since the witcher had named Jaskier the bane of his very existence on that mountain, the bard still considered Geralt one of his oldest friends. It went without saying that he would tell his daughter about the great White Wolf as she was growing up. _Toss a Coin_ was part of Geralt’s legacy and although singing it always evoked bittersweet memories for Jaskier, he could not deny his precious daughter anything.

“Of course, sweetheart. _When a humble bard graced a ride along with Geralt of Rivia along came this song…._ ”

Jaskier had sung _Toss a Coin_ three times before they reached the gates of Ard Carraigh. He was surprised at how easily the guards let him into the city – nobody seemed suspicious of him, and no one asked any questions. Jaskier had to remind himself that to everyone else, he was just a father travelling with his child, and not a runaway spy trying to escape the wrath of his former employer. Well, _most_ people wouldn’t suspect Jaskier at least, but one could never be too careful. Dijkstra was known to have ears and eyes at every corner of the Continent.

“Now darling, remember what I told you when we set off from Oxenfurt?” Jaskier asked Erica in a hushed tone as he guided his horse along the main street of Ard Carraigh. Pegasus navigated expertly among the humans who most of the time did not seem the slightest bit worried that a horse was trying to get through them.

“Yes. No talking to strangers, no letting go of your hand, and no telling my name to anyone.”

“Very good, dear heart,” Jaskier praised, relieved that his daughter had memorised his words so well. His advice might very well save her life if it came down to it. “Now, I need you to listen very carefully, alright? If anyone does stop you and forces you to give them your name, I need you to come up with a different one. Under no circumstances can you give anyone your real name sweetheart, do you understand?”

“But daddy,” Erica shifted on the saddle so that she could peek over her shoulder up at her father with confusion written all over her soft features, “you told me that it’s wrong to lie.”

“I know sweetheart, but on this _one_ and _single_ occasion it is very much necessary. Any other name _but_ your real one. And same goes if anyone asks you for my name. Do you understand, sweet girl?”

Erica was silent for a little while as she pondered her father’s words, but eventually she nodded in agreement before facing ahead again. Jaskier bit back a heavy sigh. No child should ever be encouraged to lie, but Jaskier needed to be sure that if anyone were to snatch Erica from him that she would be safe and would lie her way out of it. He could not bear the thought of anything happening to her for the mistakes he had made. Erica needed to be safe at all costs. It was the very reason why Jaskier had decided to flee to Ard Carraigh in the first place, after all.

They eventually reached an inn which was just off the main road, and therefore less likely to be frequented by travellers, who might prefer the convenience of a high street inn to be close to the other amenities the city of Ard Carraigh had to offer. Jaskier did not care for convenience this time. He needed to keep a low profile and not attract any attention to himself. It went against his very nature not to be noticed by people – but as one of the Continent’s most prominent bards (in all modesty, of course), Jaskier was very likely to be recognised. He could not risk the wrong people getting wind of his and Erica’s whereabouts. He needed to keep his daughter safe. Nothing else mattered.

Jaskier helped Erica dismount Pegasus before handing the reins to a stableboy who looked no older than thirteen, along with a handful of coin for his efforts. The boy thanked Jaskier profusely and promised to take very good care of Pegasus in return. Jaskier barely acknowledged the boy, too busy scanning the nearby alley for any signs of danger. His hold tightened around Erica’s hand as he dragged his daughter into the building. The inn was empty save for two men playing cards at a table in the far left corner and the barkeep cleaning the countertop with a dirty rag. When he noticed Jaskier and Erica, the barkeep instantly smiled at them in a friendly and welcoming manner that did precious little to appease the bard’s jitters. The gesture probably came from a good intention.

“Good afternoon sir, and to you too young lass. How may I be of service?”

“We’ll need a room for the night,” Jaskier said, his tone more tense than he intended it to sound, “and also a hot meal if the cook is still in the kitchen.”

“I’m afraid my wife has gone to the market to get produce for tonight’s meal, and I’m no use behind a stove,” the jolly man directed a kind smile at Erica, who beamed back at him in all her innocence. Jaskier tightened his hold on his daughter’s hand ever so slightly but did not comment otherwise. “I can have one of my daughters get a room ready for you as soon as possible. And you’re then more than welcome to join us for supper in the evening.”

“Thank you. How much do I owe you?”

“Ten orens for the room. Would your daughter enjoy a treat from the kitchen? I know where my wife keeps the almond cakes?”

Jaskier was about to decline the offer when his eyes met his daughter’s expectant gaze. Erica put on the most adorable pout she could muster as she stared pleadingly at Jaskier. The blue eyes, so much like his own, would forever be the death of him. A soft sigh left him as his hand reached for his coin pouch.

“Oh, no need, no need,” the barkeep quickly interjected when he noticed Jaskier intended to pay him for the almond cakes, “please, it’s my pleasure. I have four daughters and a son. My daughters are all grown up and the apple of my eye. I remember when they were only wee girls running around the inn without a care in the world. Your daughter reminds me of my girls at her age.”

“Thank you, we appreciate your generosity.” Jaskier managed an earnest smile at the barkeep, yet he did not fully bring himself to relax. Sometimes, the kind and generous people were the ones harbouring the worst intentions. Erica, on the other hand, was blissfully unaware of Jaskier’s internal turmoil as she visibly vibrated with anticipation. The man returned from the kitchen shortly holding two almond cakes in a beefy hand, one which he offered Erica and the other which he handed to Jaskier.

“Sweetheart, what do you say?” Jaskier reminded his daughter gently. Just because they were on the run did not mean she had to forget her manners.

“Thank you, sir,” Erica chanted happily before taking a huge bite out of her almond cake. The barkeep chuckled softly at the girl’s enthusiasm.

“You’re most welcome, sweet girl. And what do you they call you?”

Jaskier noticed his daughter tensing up at the question and for a brief second, he worried that maybe asking a five-year-old to lie to adults might not have been such a great idea after all. Especially when those adults were being kind to her and offering her cakes. However, Erica recovered quickly. She swallowed her bite before answering the man crouching before her.

“My name is Lily. Nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Lily. What a gorgeous name for a truly gorgeous girl.”

Erica giggled at the compliment and Jaskier visibly deflated with relief. Guilt tugged at his heartstrings though, because the poor girl should not have to live with the pressure of hiding her identity at such a young age. Jaskier vowed to get them to safety as soon as he could, if only to spare his daughter the need to lie again in the future.

“Alright sweetheart, we still have some errands to run before our room is ready,” Jaskier itched to have Erica by his side again, the thought of the barkeep snatching her and running away ever present in his mind. Thankfully, Erica rushed to his side instantly and happily stuffed the remaining of her almond cake into her mouth. Jaskier watched her struggle to chew the bit of cake for a while, waiting until she had swallowed before handing her the second almond cake. He smiled softly at the delighted squeal his actions pulled from the young girl.

“Thank you, daddy. Goodbye, sir!”

“Goodbye, Lily. See you and your father later for supper.”

Jaskier bid his farewell and quickly left the inn. Once they were outside, Jaskier pulled the hood of his cloak up and tied it securely at the base of his throat to conceal his face. He then crouched before Erica and did the same to her cloak, which was not as easy a task considering he had to work around the little girl stuffing her face with almond cake.

“Remember dear heart, don’t let go of my hand, you hear me?”

“Yes, daddy,” Erica agreed around a mouthful of cake, some of it falling out of her mouth and making her giggle. Jaskier levelled her with a reprimanding look edged with fondness. His daughter acting so carefree despite their current situation was the most heart-warming sight and Jaskier could not bring himself to chastise her for speaking with a full mouth. There would be time for that later.

“Good girl. We’re going to play a game, would you like that?” Jaskier asked, still kneeling before his daughter so he was at eye-level with her. Erica’s eyes widened and she nodded vehemently in her excitement. “Now dear heart, I want you to keep an eye out for men with yellow eyes and wearing a necklace with the head of a wolf around their necks. You think you can do that?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Yellow eyes and a wolf necklace.”

Jaskier rose to his feet and kept a firm hold on Erica’s hand as they navigated through the crowd towards the main market square. To any outsider, they would seem like a father and a daughter heading into town to do some shopping. Inconspicuous. Unremarkable. Incognito. Exactly what Jaskier wanted. As they walked onto the main road again, Jaskier kept an eye out for any witcher while Erica was easily distracted by the many stalls and people around her. Jaskier knew that Geralt used to stop in Ard Carraigh to get supplies for the winter before making his way to Kaer Morhen. Surely every witcher wintering at the keep would do the same to spread the costs. Nobody would expect a single one of them to spend all their coin on filling the pantries with sufficient supplies to feed every witcher who decided to winter with them. It would make sense that every wolf witcher stopped in Ard Carraigh prior to returning home.

It made sense, didn’t it?

And yet, there was a knot in Jaskier’s stomach as he walked the streets of Ard Carraigh with his daughter trailing behind him. What if he didn’t run into any witcher? What then? Geralt might be easier to spot with his white hair and permanent scowl, but there was no guarantee that his brothers would stand out as much as the White Wolf did. Jaskier did not know the way to Kaer Morhen, so setting off to into the mountains with Erica would be irresponsible at the very least, suicidal even. They could not survive on their own out there not knowing where they were going. There was a chill in the air that announced the coming of the first snow, and if the cold and hunger did not kill them then some monster probably would. Without a guide, they were certain to walk straight into trouble. Jaskier was out of options. If he didn’t find a witcher in Ard Carraigh, he and Erica would have to flee to Lettenhove and hope that one of Jaskier’s sisters would take them in until the Dijkstra problem blew over.

The only flaw with that plan was that Dijkstra would be sure to have men check Lettenhove if he got wind that Jaskier fled there. The bard would not risk it. Jaskier wasn’t very hopeful that his family would welcome him with open arms after not seeing him for nearly three decades, anyway. He was out of options. His train of thought of rudely interrupted by a young woman running into him and had Jaskier not caught her with both hands, she would have landed face-first onto the cobbled streets. Jaskier helped steady her before letting go of her hands.

“Forgive me, sir, I was not looking where I was going,” the woman apologised, a sheepish look in her eyes.

“All is forgiven, miss. It’s easy to get distracted by all these wonderful stalls,” Jaskier brushed off her apology, which earned him a grateful smile.

“Indeed, everything here is perfectly marvellous, isn’t it? I recommend Master Mirelli’s stand – he sells all kind of wondrous artefacts. Some, he claims, once belonged to mages and sorceresses that he defeated in battle. Can you believe it?”

Jaskier could in fact not believe it, and it sounded very much like Master Mirelli was an ambulant charlatan, but for the sake of not raising any more attention to himself than necessary he smiled indulgingly at the woman.

“I’ll be sure to stop by his stall. Good day, miss.”

“And to you, kind sir.”

Jaskier watched the woman disappear again before turning his attention to Erica only to realise that his daughter was not at his side anymore. Panic took a hold of Jaskier as he frantically scanned his surroundings for any signs of his daughter or the purple cloak she was wearing. She could not have gone that far, Jaskier reasoned with himself as he willed his racing heart to slow down. Erica had most likely been distracted by something close by. Jaskier examined the stalls around him to determine which one was the most likely to have caught his daughter’s eye. There was a butcher, a blacksmith, a tailor and a book merchant close by. If Erica was to run away, it had to be either to the tailor’s or the bookmaker’s so those were the places Jaskier went looking first. There was no sign of his daughter at either stalls, which did nothing to alleviate Jaskier’s panic. Where was she? Was she hurt? Did someone grab her?

Jaskier ventured back to the butcher’s and the blacksmith’s stalls – perhaps a shiny blade or an elaborately decorated sword hilt had lured Erica away from him – but his daughter was nowhere near those either. Tears welled up in Jaskier’s eyes as he let his fear get the better of him. He was so close, so close to having Erica somewhere safe and far away from Dijsktra’s men… Jaskier would never forgive himself if anything happened to her. Why had he let go of her hand? He should never have let go of Erica’s hand.

Jaskier was still scanning the crowd for signs of his daughter when a familiar voice cried out for him from behind.

“Daddy!”

Jaskier whirled around and his heart dropped when he noticed Erica, hood off and revealing her tear-streaked face, in the arms of a tall hooded figure. Judging by the stature and height, Jaskier guessed it was a man, and his heart dropped in his chest. He could not see the stranger’s face, but there were fresh tears welling up in Erica’s eyes and Jaskier’s blood ran cold at the sight. He made his way through the crowd, shoving people out of his way and ignoring the curses hurled at him. He needed to get to Erica. Nothing else mattered in that moment.

“Daddy!”

Erica whined when she noticed Jaskier coming her way. When he was close enough, she reached out for him and then, to Jaskier’s relief, the man holding Erica easily yielded her to him. As soon as his daughter was back in the safety of his arms, Jaskier hugged her tightly and nestled her face in the crook of his neck. His own tears were now running freely down his cheeks as he buried his nose in his daughter’s hair.

“Oh my sweet girl, I thought I lost you!”

“Daddy,” Erica whispered in his ear, “daddy, I won the game. The man has a wolf necklace.”

Jaskier’s eyes instantly darted to the man in question, whose face was still concealed by his brown woollen hood, and Jaskier noticed the wolf pendant hanging from the man’s neck. It wasn’t Geralt though, Jaskier could tell. Geralt was not nearly as broad as the witcher standing before him. Before the stranger could walk away, Jaskier grabbed onto the sleeve of his cloak. The witcher tensed at the sudden action.

“I need your help!” Jaskier said without preamble, his tone pleading and desperate. The witcher made no move to break free from Jaskier’s hold, although he could have very easily done so by using his much superior strength. The bard saw this as a win. “Please witcher, I have coin, I can pay. Can we talk somewhere private?”

There was a hesitant silence during which the witcher pondered Jaskier’s words. The crowd around them paid them no heed as they passed the two silent men, everyone minding their own business. Finally, the witcher gently pulled away from Jaskier’s hold and the bard only reluctantly let go. He did not fancy chasing the witcher down the streets of Ard Carraigh while carrying Erica. However, rather than just leave, the witcher spoke:

“What seems to be your problem?”

“Not here. Even the walls of Ard Carraigh have ears.”

The witcher let out a sigh.

“Very well. Where should I meet you?”

“Just follow me. It’s easier.”

Jaskier noticed the hesitation again, and for a brief heart-shattering moment he expected the witcher to refuse. It was Erica who interrupted the pregnant silence with her sweet voice.

“We won’t hurt you, mister. My daddy is very kind, even to strangers.”

To Jaskier’s surprise, the witcher chuckled at Erica’s words.

“How can I refuse such a polite young lady,” the raspy, baritone voice rose from beneath the hood. Erica blushed at the compliment and hid her face in Jaskier’s neck self-consciously. The witcher then addressed Jaskier once again. “Lead the way, in that case.”

It did not take them long to reach the inn Jaskier was staying in. The bard briefly wondered how the barkeep would react to Jaskier dragging a witcher in, but there was no time to think about that. If everything went to plan, he and Erica would not be in Ard Carraigh for much longer. He frankly did not care if the innkeeper was hostile to witchers.

As it turned out, Jaskier could not have been further from the truth.

“Ah, Master Eskel,” the innkeeper greeted warmly when Jaskier and Eskel stepped into the inn, “has it been a year already? My, time flies! You can take off your hood, my friend, witchers are welcome in my inn.”

Jaskier lowered Erica to the ground but held her hand firmly in his own. He would not let her wander off again, not after the fright she had given him. Erica seemed happy enough to stay by his side. Out of the corner of his eyes, Jaskier noticed the witcher pull his hood down and his eyes automatically went to inspect the man’s face. The witcher going by the name of Eskel was still busy exchanging friendly words with the innkeeper, giving Jaskier an opportunity to study him more closely. The mop of dark brown hair reached the nape of his neck and nicely framed his square face. The amber eyes reminded Jaskier of Geralt, although Geralt’s eyes had a sharper yellow tint to them while Eskel’s were the colour of molten gold. The right side of his face was marred with four rows of scars that reached from his hairline all the way down to his chin, and which pulled his lip into a permanent snarl. Jaskier had never been one to be deterred by the sight of scars, but Erica for her part was openly staring at Eskel’s face.

“Dear heart, it’s not polite to stare,” Jaskier told Erica discreetly, and if Eskel heard this he made no mention of it. Erica was quick to look away from the witcher’s face.

“Your room is ready, sir,” the innkeeper addressed Jaskier rather unexpectedly, “here are your keys. Master Eskel, will you be staying for supper? Food and ale on the house, for you and your friends.”

“Thank you, Harald, you are too generous,” Eskel smiled kindly at the innkeeper and Jaskier thought the smile made the witcher look quite handsome despite the scars, “I insist to pay you a small fee, at least.”

“Nonsense! Master Eskel, you saved my dear wife’s life and I shall never be able to repay you. Free food and ale on the house, I _must_ insist. Now sit, all of you, I shall bring you drinks and an almond cake for the wee lass.”

_________

Jaskier and Eskel sat at a table in a dark corner of the inn. Harald brought them two tankards of ale each, and for Erica he brought a mug of hot tea and another almond cake together with some scrap paper and crayons for the girl to entertain herself. Jaskier thanked the innkeeper for his kindness and briefly watched Erica sketch butterflies on the yellowing paper while waiting for her tea to cool down. Jaskier expected Eskel to grow impatient and press him for details concerning the contract that Jaskier supposedly had for him, but instead the witcher remained silent.

“What is your favourite colour, mister ‘Skel?”

Eskel looked slightly taken aback by the question as he stared at Erica like she had just grown a second head. Jaskier bit back a fond smile and he wondered when the last time was that someone had asked Eskel – or any other witcher, for that matter – such an innocent question. Eskel recovered quickly from his momentary stupor, his brows set in a concentrated frown as he seriously pondered the question.

“I like the colour red a lot,” Eskel finally answered, earning himself a pleased smile from Erica who picked up the red crayon and began colouring in the butterfly’s wings. Jaskier leaned over and placed a soft kiss on the crown of her head before turning his attention to Eskel once more.

“Thank you for agreeing to speak to me.”

“It’s rare for people to ask for a witcher’s services in these parts. Let’s say tickled my curiosity,” Eskel admitted as he leaned back into his chair and took a swig of his ale.

“This matter is rather delicate. It doesn’t involve killing anything or anyone. It is more a matter of protection.”

Eskel frowned at these words.

“Witchers aren’t bodyguards for hire,” he said, though not unkindly. There was a softness to everything Eskel said or did, which was refreshing after spending two decades following Geralt whose manners were boorish at the best of times and sometimes even outright cruel. Jaskier willed the memories away. Now was not the time to reminisce on the past.

“I know, I know, and I wouldn’t ask this of you if I didn’t have good reasons for doing so. Before I go on to tell you more, allow me to introduce us. My name is Julian Alfred Pankratz, although I am more commonly known as Jaskier. This is my daughter Erica, who right now is going by the name of Lily.”

“Jaskier?” Eskel interrupted, his frown intensifying. “Geralt’s bard?”

That should not have stung as much as it did, but Jaskier did a good job at hiding it.

“Once upon a time, yes. Geralt and I haven’t spoken in nearly six years.”

“I see.” Eskel took another swig of his drink and briefly met Erica’s eyes, who was looking at him curiously. When the girl realised that Eskel had caught her staring, she openly beamed at him and handed him the piece of paper on which she had drawn her red butterfly. “Is that for me?”

“Yes! You helped me find daddy, so I drew you a picture. Butterflies are my favourite animals, and red is your favourite colour!”

Eskel accepted the gift and made a point of admiring every aspect of Erica’s drawing, his fingers gently tracing the outline of the butterfly’s wings as a soft smile tugged at the corner of his scarred lips. Jaskier could almost see the witcher’s heart grow three sizes bigger at the kind gesture, clearly not used to them. When Eskel looked at Erica again he wore a genuine smile on his handsome features.

“This is no doubt the nicest present anyone has given me. Thank you, little one.”

“You like it?” Erica asked, her tone hopeful and anxious at the same time. Eskel nodded solemnly as he carefully folded the picture and tucked it safely inside his gambeson right over his heart.

“I shall hang it on my wall as soon as I get back home.”

With those words, Erica went back to her drawings leaving the adults to their boring conversation. Eskel’s eyes lingered on Erica for a little while longer, nothing but fondness reflected in the amber gaze. In that moment, a thought occurred to Jaskier that snapped him out of his silent observation.

“I never thanked you for bringing Erica back to me. I thought I’d lost her for good.”

Eskel’s eyes, warm and intelligent, snapped back to Jaskier at those words. The witcher crossed his arms before his chest and brought one hand to rub at his scarred cheek.

“Don’t mention it. Consider it repayment for improving the reputation of witchers with your songs.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow at those words.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to pretend to like my songs. Or be grateful for them. I’m a big boy, I can take criticism,” he told Eskel, feeling oddly defensive.

“It isn’t pretence, bard. Ever since you came up with that _Toss A Coin_ song, I think I’ve had some of my best-paid contracts yet. People willingly pay me more than my fair share. As soon as they see the wolf medallion around my neck, they beg me to take on contracts. If they could they’d drag me to the notice boards by the scruff of my neck.”

Jaskier chuckled at that last bit before taking a sip of his own ale. It was not watered down and burned slightly on the way down, but left Jaskier feeling warm.

“I’m glad you enjoy my songs. Geralt wasn’t fond of them. I believe his exact words he used to describe my singing were ‘it’s like ordering a pie and finding it has no filling’.”

“What would Geralt know about singing? I wouldn’t take his comments too much to heart, bard. After all, a fisherman doesn’t take advice from a carpenter when it comes to catching fish. Similarly, a bard shouldn’t be taking advice from a witcher when it comes to his singing.”

Eskel’s words warmed Jaskier’s heart and the witcher was rewarded with a genuine smile from the bard, who felt more validated than he had in years. Eskel’s comments made him want to start composing and singing again. Since Erica had come into his life, Jaskier had not managed to dedicate any time to his passion. Instead, he had mixed with the wrong crowd in a desperate effort to give his daughter a good life. _Should’ve sticked with singing after all_ , Jaskier thought bitterly, _if you’d just sticked to singing you wouldn’t be in this mess_. Hindsight was a wonderful thing.

“I don’t know what happened between you and Geralt, or what was said between the two of you. What I know is that Geralt can be an ass when he wants to be. I should know, I’ve been friends with him for as long as I can remember. For all his flaws, Geralt doesn’t hold petty grudges and if he knew that you and your daughter needed help, he wouldn’t hesitate to assist you.”

Eskel sounded so sincere, so convinced of what he was saying, that Jaskier very nearly believed him. But then Geralt’s words echoed cruelly in his mind like a mantra. _Why is it that when I find myself in a pile of shit these days it’s you shovelling it?_ A totally unfair statement, for Geralt got himself into sticky situation all by himself, thank you very much. He did not need Jaskier’s help to stick his nose where it had no business, inadvertently or otherwise. _If life could give me one blessing…_ Now that one stung so very deeply that Jaskier could not bring himself to finish it.

“I’m on the run from some very powerful men. Dijkstra, ever heard of the name?”

The tension in Eskel’s jaw was indication enough that the witcher had at the very least heard of Dijkstra. Good. It might all play in Jaskier’s favour.

“The spy?”

“Mhm. You see, when Erica came into my life I was… shall we say unprepared to be a father. I didn’t even know that her mother… well, her mother and I spent precious little time together before Erica’s birth, if you get my meaning. She passed away shortly after giving birth, but with her dying breath she uttered my name. Fortunately, the doctor who saw her through her labour was a good friend of mine at Oxenfurt Academy. Shani brought Erica to me and, well, I never looked back.”

Jaskier glanced over at Erica, who was engrossed with her drawing and not paying attention to their conversation at all. Eskel, meanwhile, had finished his tankard of ale and placed the now empty recipient at the edge of the table. He listened patiently and without interruption, waiting until he had all the facts before making up his mind. A good quality in any man, but more so in a witcher, Jaskier thought.

“Performing and writing songs barely helped _me_ get by on my own, so I knew I had to find another occupation if I wanted to raise Erica and give her the best chance at life. I briefly taught at Oxenfurt, and that’s where Dijkstra found me. He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse; I was to go to the Nilfgaardian court as a bard, perform there, mingle and do what I do best. Charm people and use my wits to extract information from them. In return, I would get paid handsomely and my daughter would want for nothing. It was meant to be a one time job, but one assignment turned to five, and soon I was too far in to go back. Dijkstra had me by the family jewels before I knew what was happening to me. He had given me and Erica everything, and he always reminded me that he could take it all away, just like that. One day I snapped, and I left.”

Jaskier scanned the room for any suspicious individuals, but the inn was still mostly empty save for two patrons playing Gwent at another table. Eskel discreetly appraised them from the corner of his eyes too, and when amber eyes met Jaskier’s again Eskel offered a reassuring smile.

“They won’t cause any trouble. Town drunks.”

“You’d be surprised just how good some of Dijkstra’s men are at keeping a low profile. But I guess it’s comforting to have a witcher sitting with us. I doubt anyone will try to hurt us when you’re around.”

Eskel hummed in agreement before rubbing his scarred cheek again. The witcher had done this a lot since he and Jaskier had begun their conversation. It was almost as if Eskel didn’t even notice he was doing it. Jaskier did not comment on the habit.

“I don’t care if you don’t help me. Hell, if you won’t help me because of Geralt, that’s fine by me, but please take Erica with you at least. She shouldn’t have to pay for my mistakes. Please, take her with you. To Kaer Morhen, I mean. She’ll be safe there, and-“

“Daddy, you’re coming with me!” Erica suddenly cried out, leaving no room for arguments. Jaskier met her eyes which were shimmering with unshed tears. Jaskier’s arms were around her in an instant, pulling her close and hiding her face in his cloak. Erica held onto him for dear life as she let her tears run freely down her cheeks, sniffling and sobbing quietly into her father’s chest. Jaskier’s heart broke at the sight, and judging by Eskel’s sad frown, so did his.

“Erica, sweetheart, don’t cry. Daddy didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“D-don’t le-leave me, da-ddy,” Erica hiccupped pitifully.

“He won’t leave you, little one. You’re both coming with me to Kaer Morhen. You’ll both be safe there.”

Jaskier looked at Eskel and could almost not believe what he was hearing. It was like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders and it was all he could do not to burst into tears as the realisation hit him that Eskel had agreed to help. He had agreed to take him and Erica to Kaer Morhen, where they would _both_ be safe from Dijkstra for a little while at least. Jaskier hoped that his eyes conveyed all the gratitude and relief he felt in that instant, for the bard did not trust himself to keep his voice steady enough to voice his thanks. Eskel seemed to understand though.

“You promise?” Erica asked in a small voice, her teary eyes peeking at Eskel from the safety of Jaskier’s arms.

“I promise, little one. You can meet another young girl who’s living at the keep. Her name is Ciri and she’s been feeling lonely surrounded by nothing but old miserable men for so long.”

“Ciri?” Jaskier repeated incredulously, “Geralt’s child surprise? He went back for her?”

“So he did. She’s been training at Kaer Morhen for a while – this will be the sixth winter she spends with us. Trust me, she’s in desperate need for a female friend, even if that friend is younger than her.”

Jaskier did not really know why, but the thought of Geralt returning to find his child surprise after being in denial about his duty to Ciri for so long warmed the bard’s heart. Perhaps there was hope for the White Wolf after all.

“Thank you, Eskel. Truly thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

For the first time in weeks, months even, Jaskier felt hopeful.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was going to post once a week, but I'm popping those chapters like nothing else (and already working on chapter 6 you guys, I'm in love with this story). And since I'm too impatient, my 'posting once a week' plan isn't working out. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. Thanks for the reactions and for taking the time to read.

Harald ended up offering Eskel a meal as well as a room to stay in, _free of your coin Master Eskel, I must insist_. Jaskier, Erica and the witcher ate together at the same table as if they had known each other for years, all the while ignoring the curious glances some of the patrons cast their way. Jaskier and Erica were too exhausted to talk and Eskel seemed content to sit in companionable silence. Despite the innkeeper’s insistence, Eskel slid a pouch of coin into the man’s hand and refused to take no for an answer. Harald thanked the witcher profusely and promised to have a batch of fresh bread ready for him in the morning. Eskel was rubbing the scarred side of his face the whole time he was speaking to Harald. Jaskier was beginning to see a pattern emerging.

“I have some coin left that I could use to buy supplies for the trip,” Jaskier told Eskel as soon as Harald had disappeared into the kitchen. Erica had fallen asleep with her head on Jaskier’s lap minutes after she had finished her meal, exhausted from the journey and the emotional whirlwind the past couple of weeks had been. “We also have a horse that we could sell if you’re short on coin.”

“Keep the horse,” Eskel interjected and Jaskier did not fail to notice the way the witcher kept his voice down so as to not wake the sleeping girl in the bard’s lap, “as kids we used to call the trail up the mountain ‘the Killer’. There’s a reason for that. It’ll be much easier for you to ride the trail up than to walk it.”

Jaskier nodded in agreement, his fingers absent-mindedly playing with strands of Erica’s dark hair. The girl shifted a little in her sleep but did not wake.

“I’ll probably need to buy warmer clothes for Erica as well. I think this cloak is the warmest item of clothing she has. We left Oxenfurt rather abruptly, there was no time to pack.”

“Leave it to me,” Eskel suggested softly, “the merchants of Ard Carraigh are used to witchers and sorcerers, they don’t tend to crank up their prices like other places. With Kaer Morhen and Ban Ard this close, witchers and sorcerers are among the traders’ best clientele. Foreigners, on the other hand… they won’t hesitate to charge you more than their regular customers.”

“That’s settled then. Take this.” Jaskier gently retrieved his coin pouch from his pocket and slid it across the table to Eskel. “It’s all I have left. I’m not sure if that will be enough for both food and clothing. I’m not familiar with the prices around Ard Carraigh.”

“You’re handing me your coin just like that? Aren’t you worried I’ll disappear with it and never come back?”

Eskel’s tone was genuinely curious, and perhaps a little self-conscious as he questioned Jaskier’s trust in him. It was to be expected, the bard thought. After all, most people were taught from a young age to mistrust that which they didn’t understand, and who on the Continent could claim to fully understand how witcher minds worked? Well, Jaskier could. He had travelled with one for twenty years. Then again, Jaskier also thought that after twenty years Geralt had come to see him as a friend, and boy had he been mistaken there.

There was something about Eskel, though, something about the way he acted around Erica and about his stubborn determination to compensate the innkeeper for his troubles despite Harald’s insistence that Eskel did not owe him or his family a thing. There was something humble about the witcher, something kind and calming. Jaskier knew deep in his heart that Eskel was not the kind of man to leave a father and his daughter stranded with no coin to their name.

“I just watched you accept a butterfly drawing from a little girl and promise her to hang it on your bedroom wall. You seem like a good man, Eskel. I trust you.”

Geralt had once told Jaskier that a witcher’s mutations stripped him from the ability to blush, and yet the bard thought he could see the tip of Eskel’s ears turn an adorable shade of pink as a large hand came to paw at his scars again. Definitely an unconscious reaction, Jaskier decided. When their eyes met again, Eskel let out a small sigh before hesitantly reaching for the pouch of coin and stuffing it in his pocket.

“The stalls will be closing now, but I’ll go get the necessary supplies first thing in the morning. I still have some coin left, I’ll have plenty for what we’re needing. We’ll set off before noon so we can make good time. I’ll secure a cart and my horse Scorpion will trail the wares up the mountain. Better than us needing to carry them.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Jaskier asked, because he hated feeling useless especially since – no, he promised himself long ago that he would stop tormenting himself about this. He had _not_ been a bad travel companion to Geralt, despite the witcher’s scathing parting words. Geralt was a grouch who had failed to see just _how_ helpful Jaskier had been to him over the years. And yet, the memory of his best friend sending him away on that mountain – well, it still fucking hurt no matter how hard Jaskier tried to convince himself otherwise.

“Stay out of trouble. You never know who may be watching or listening. You were right to be cautious.” Eskel’s frown softened when his eyes fell on Erica’s sleeping form. It warmed Jaskier’s heart to know that his precious girl had wormed her way into the stoic witcher’s heart as quickly as she had. She was truly a marvellous little thing. “I’ll come back for you two later in the morning. Be ready to leave then.”

“Of course.”

“I suggest we all get as much rest as we can. We’ll need to camp several times on the way up, there’s no way we’ll make the journey in one day. I don’t think I need to tell you how uncomfortable sleeping outside can be.”

Jaskier smiled indulgingly. No, indeed Eskel did not have to tell him just how eery nights on the Path could be. Jaskier could not bring himself to care. He and Erica would be safe in Kaer Morhen, and if trailing up a cold mountain was the price to pay then Jaskier would willingly sleep on any hard surface for the rest of his life. Erica, Jaskier knew, had this uncanny ability to fall asleep anywhere and sleep through the wildest storms. She would be fine, and once they were at the witcher’s keep, Jaskier would get a chance to catch up on much needed sleep too.

“We’ll be ready, Eskel. Thank you again. For everything.”

Eskel acknowledged Jaskier’s words with a brief nod before rising to his feet and stretching out the kinks in his back by reaching both his arms far above his head. The bulky witcher, despite his stature, looked strangely graceful as he did so. Jaskier willed himself to look away. He gently gathered Erica in his arms, confident that she would not wake up, before rising from his chair as well. He flashed Eskel a final grateful smile.

“Sleep tight, Eskel. We shall see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, bard.”

___________

Jaskier did not sleep much that night, his mind and body still alert as he anxiously guarded Erica’s sleep. The fear and worry that someone would break into their room and snatch his daughter away to use as leverage against him had kept Jaskier up most nights since they had left Oxenfurt. Tonight was no exception. Erica, on the other hand, slept deeply and soundly through the night and did not wake until several hours after sunrise. Her bright blue eyes fluttered open just as Jaskier was done getting dressed.

“Good morning dear heart,” Jaskier greeted her softly, smiling at the tired noises he got in response.

“Mornin’ daddy.”

“Did you have a good sleep? We have a busy few days ahead. You, Eskel and I are all going on an adventure, how fun does that sound? We’ll climb a mountain and sleep in a castle over the winter.”

“A castle?” The excitement in Erica’s voice was unmistakable, even though her eyes were still getting adjusted to the sunlight filtering through the dirty window. “Are we visiting a princess or a prince?”

“Well, there will be a princess there sweetheart. Although not quite the princess you’re used to from the stories daddy reads to you.” Jaskier sat down at the edge of the bed and happily allowed Erica, who was wrapped up in the thin sheets for warmth, to cuddle into his side. “This princess lives in a castle with witchers, like Eskel.”

“Like the White Wolf Geralt of Rivia?” Erica managed to ask before a soft yawn pushed past her lips as she huddled closer to her father’s warmth. Jaskier held her close with one arm wrapped around her body and his hand pressed firmly against the outside of her leg.

“Exactly like the White Wolf. Eskel will be taking us to this castle, known as Kaer Morhen. In the Elder Speech it means Keep of the Elder Sea. That’s because there used to be a sea around it many, many years ago.”

“Why are we going there?”

Jaskier swallowed thickly around the lump in his throat.

“It’s a little holiday. Daddy thought it might be good to leave Oxenfurt and Novigrad for a while. Just to show you a different part of the world, my darling.”

“Daddy?” Erica pulled away from Jaskier’s embrace so she could gaze up at her father with a serious expression on her face. “Will Diksta be able to find us in the castle?”

Jaskier’s heart dropped in his chest at the question. He gently cupped Erica’s face in his hands and placed a firm kiss on her forehead, through which he hoped to reassure his daughter that nothing would happen to her as long as Jaskier could help it. He saw his own fears and worries mirrored in his Erica’s blue orbs. Guilt tugged at his heartstrings at the sight.

“Listen to me, dear heart. Dijkstra won’t be able to hurt us, do you understand? Don’t worry about him.”

“But _you’re_ worried, daddy,” Erica insisted as tears welled up in her eyes. Jaskier was quick to shoosh her, his thumbs catching the wayward tears running down her cheeks.

“Daddy will _always_ worry about keeping you safe, sweetheart. That’s daddy’s job, not yours. I promise you that once we’re with the witchers, nothing will get to us. I’ll pinky swear it if it makes you feel better?”

Without waiting for a reply, Jaskier hooked his pinkie with his daughter’s and squeezed gently. Erica squeezed back and a small smile graced her face, the tears long forgotten as her eyes lingered on her and Jaskier’s interlinked fingers. Jaskier was pleased; he hated seeing his precious little girl upset, especially over something that was not her responsibility to bear.

“I love you, daddy.”

“I love you more.”

“No, _I_ love you more,” Erica argued, giggling when Jaskier’s nimble fingers poked her sensitive ribs.

“Well _I_ love you the most!”

Erica surrendered to her father’s tickling, her gleeful squeals echoing against the bare walls of the room. Jaskier relished in the sound. There was no purer music to his ears than his daughter’s happiness. Soon, they would be safe. Dijkstra would not find them in Kaer Morhen, and even if he did, he would not have the balls to go up against a group of witchers. Well, Dijkstra wouldn’t have the balls to go up against the witchers _alone_ , but Jaskier was convinced that he was not important enough to waste precious resources on, no matter how pissed off Dijkstra was.

“Stop daddy, daddy STOP!” Erica cried out and Jaskier eventually took pity on her.

“Come now dear heart, we need to get you dressed and go saddle Pegasus. Eskel will be back any minute to get us.”

“Tell me about the princess of Kaer Morhen, daddy!” Erica demanded as she hopped off the bed and went to pick up her clothes from the floor. Jaskier smiled fondly as he went to help his daughter slip out of her nightwear and into her dress.

“Alright then if that’s what my Lady Erica wishes. I, the troubadour Jaskier, shall tell you of the great tales pertaining to the princess of Kaer Morhen.” Erica giggled at Jaskier’s dramatic tone.

“You’re silly, daddy!”

“Do you want a story, or not?” Jaskier asked his daughter in mock irritation, smiling softly when Erica nodded enthusiastically in return, her bright eyes shining with barely concealed anticipation. “Very well then, I suggest you be quiet while the master troubadour Jaskier tells the tale of said princess. Ahem. Her name is Cirilla, and she is what poets call a Child of Destiny…”

______________

Eskel came back for them, and when Jaskier caught sight of him he let out a breath he did not know he had been holding. Eskel’s hood was up, probably to not attract any attention to his scars as he meandered through the crowd back to Harald’s inn. Behind him a majestic black stallion was trailing a cart laden with sacks of grain, flour, potatoes and dried meats that would keep for several weeks at least. Other than food Jaskier also noticed pelts, furs and leather hides, some alchemy ingredients he recognised from Geralt’s own collection and, more surprising, a handful of books as well.

“Are you all set to leave?” Eskel asked discreetly, keeping his voice down which Jaskier appreciated.

“Yes, I believe so.”

“Good, we’ll be leaving earlier than anticip-,“ Eskel was interrupted by something, or rather someone, tugging at his cloak insistently. The witcher looked down to find Erica smiling toothily at him as she waved in greeting.

“Hello Eskel!”

“Hello, little one,” Eskel responded fondly, and although Jaskier could not make out much of his face he could almost hear the smile Eskel sported. Jaskier noticed the witcher reach into his pocket and retrieve a square of honeycomb. “You just reminded me that I got a little something for you, if your father allows it.”

Erica’s jaw went slack at the sight. She stared at the sticky treat in Eskel’s hand with wide eyes. Honeycomb was one of her favourite treats, one that Jaskier often bought for her on her birthday and around the winter solstice celebrations when father and daughter went to the Midinvaerne celebrations in Novigrad. It was a rare treat, but Erica had been through a stressful couple of weeks; she deserved all the little comforts that would remind her of home. The bright smile that illuminated his daughter’s face as Eskel handed her the honeycomb was worth more to Jaskier than all the riches in the world.

“Thank you, Eskel!”

“Good girl,” Jaskier praised her for remembering her manners. While Erica happily munched on her treat, Jaskier finished saddling Pegasus and readjusted the stirrups to accommodate the length of his daughter’s shorter legs. When Jaskier was done tacking up Pegasus, the bard turned to face Eskel.

“Let us head then, shall we? After you, witcher.”

Jaskier helped Erica onto the saddle – at least that way, he was less likely to lose her again to the crowd again – before falling into step with Eskel and Scorpion. It was Saturday, and if Jaskier thought that the streets of Ard Carraigh had been busy the day before it was nothing compared to the crowds of people meandering around the stalls now. A great variety of merchants, some of which had likely travelled to Ard Carraigh specifically to attend the end of weekend market, were hollering and advertising attractive prices to lure in potential customers. While Eskel expertly guided his horse through the crowd, Jaskier kept checking that Erica was still safe in the saddle, smiling softly to himself as he watched his daughter lick her sticky fingers with gusto.

“Do you have more honeycomb, Eskel?”

“Erica!” Jaskier reprimanded in a stern tone, “You just had some, don’t be greedy.”

“I do have more honeycomb,” Eskel replied after a short pause, “but we have a long journey ahead of us, so we’ll keep it for later little one.”

“Besides, that’s enough sugar for one day, missy,” Jaskier added, levelling Erica with a look when his daughter opened her mouth to argue. Thankfully Erica seemed to decide against throwing a tantrum and settled for huffing instead. Jaskier let out a relieved sigh; the last thing he wanted was to put Eskel off travelling with Jaskier and Erica altogether. Once they were at Kaer Morhen, Eskel could avoid them all winter if that was his wish, but until then Jaskier needed to keep the witcher happy. His stomach twisted at the thought of Eskel leaving Jaskier and Erica behind somewhere in the mountains, much like Geralt had done nearly six years ago.

Jaskier willed those thoughts away. It would all be fine. Jaskier decided to map their route in his mind, just in case.

“How long does it usually take you to make the journey from Ard Carraigh back home, Eskel?” Jaskier asked, careful not to drop the name Kaer Morhen just in case anyone was listening.

“It depends. I sometimes ride back earlier than the others and don’t bother with supplies until later on. It takes me three days if I don’t stop often. Scorpion is a swift mount. When I’m carrying supplies, or if the weather is especially bad, it can take me up to a week. This time we might have to stop more frequently because of the child, so it might take us a couple more days than normal to reach our destination.”

“Erica can literally fall asleep anywhere,” Jaskier reassured Eskel, more for his own sake than the witcher’s. The fear of being left behind was ever present in Jaskier’s mind. “You don’t have to plan extra stops just for her benefit.”

“It would also be for _your_ benefit,” Eskel told Jaskier, “Besides, we’ll all need food and water at some point. But let us cross that bridge when we get to it.”

They reached the main gates to the city in silence. Erica had started humming lullabies to herself as she braided tiny plaits into Pegasus’ mane. Singing had always seemed to come as naturally as breathing to Erica, which was no surprise at all considering her parentage. Jaskier did, admittedly, not remember much about Erica’s mother – his relationship with the poor woman, may her soul rest in peace, had been a fleeting one. In fact, the term _fleeting_ was probably still an exaggeration. Jaskier remembered spending a single night with Erica’s mother – Valentina, a blacksmith’s daughter whose dream had been to become an actress in Irina Renarde’s acting troupe. Jaskier had instantly fallen under Valentina’s charm, as he notoriously did, because Jaskier had always believed in love at first sight and _boy_ did he fall in love fast. And often. Valentina had been no exception.

He had loved her for exactly one night. The next morning, he had slipped out of her room early and left before her father could find him and skin him for laying with his daughter. Or worse, insisted that Jaskier married her. Jaskier had felt guilty, like he always did after sneaking out of a lover’s room, at least until the next conquest came along. Looking back, he had acted like the lowest of scumbags, and not for the first time either. Jaskier was surprised that no woman before Valentina had come to him claiming to have borne his children. Jaskier’s eyes instinctively came to rest on his daughter, his sweet and precious Erica, who had become the light of his life from the minute he had laid eyes on her. _Her mother, Valentina, told me to find you_ , his medic friend Shani had told him as she handed over the crying babe to him, _this is Erica. She’s your daughter. Valentina’s dying wish was for Erica to grow up in a loving home_. There had been no doubt in Jaskier’s mind; he could not let someone else raise his child. The tiny babe in his arms, staring at him with curious blue eyes which were the spitting image of his own, had instantly wormed her way into his heart.

Jaskier had done many things in his life that he was not proud of, and in hindsight he wished he had treated Valentina better. Not a day went by without Jaskier thanking Destiny for blessing him with Erica, his pride and joy.

“Eskel, do you know any songs?” said pride and joy asked the witcher in a voice filled with innocence and childlike curiosity. Jaskier found himself very interested in Eskel’s answer. There was a brief pause during which the witcher either pondered how to respond or pretended not to have heard. Eventually, the baritone voice which Jaskier was becoming accustomed to replied:

“I know one. My mother used to sing it to me. You might know it, little one. _De old hen, she cackled, she cackled, on da fence. De old hen, she cackled… and she ain’t cackled sence._ ”

Eskel recited rather than sang the lyrics, but Jaskier’s heart quickened in his chest nonetheless. There was something deeply endearing about the burly witcher entertaining Erica’s innocent curiosity so readily. There was nothing patronising in the witcher’s tone when he answered the girl’s questions. Eskel did not speak to Erica like she was in any way intellectually inferior to him, like many adults tended to do. It was refreshing to observe their interaction.

“I’ve never heard that one before. How does it go?”

“Unfortunately, little one, that’s the only line I can remember,” Eskel sounded genuinely apologetic that he could not satisfy Erica’s inquisitiveness, “what about you? What’s your favourite lullaby?”

“Would you like me to sing it to you?” Erica asked, her tone hopeful.

“Alright, show me what’ya got.”

Jaskier noticed the way his daughter’s face lit up at the encouragement and it warmed his heart to see Erica so happy and carefree despite their current predicament. For a brief instant, Jaskier forgot that he was on the run and that he and his daughter were about to go into hiding to escape Dijkstra’s men. Dangerous men who would not hesitate to hurt Erica to get to Jaskier. When his daughter began to sing, all of Jaskier’s worries melted away and left behind a feeling of peace.

_Lavender’s green, dilly dilly, Lavender’s blue._

_If you love me, dilly dilly, I will love you._

_Let the birds sing, dilly dilly, and the lambs play._

_We shall be safe, dilly dilly, out of harm’s way._

In Jaskier’s modest opinion, Erica’s voice was beautiful even though she sometimes missed a note or two. Nobody was born a perfect singer, after all. Jaskier knew that if he fostered his daughter’s singing, she would have the crowds kissing her feet at the sound of her voice in no time. Hopefully once they reached the safety of Kaer Morhen Jaskier could spend more time tutoring Erica, but also spend more time just being _with_ her which he had not been able to do much since taking on assignments for Dijkstra. She deserved a better life and Jaskier would work hard to make up for his mistakes and his absences.

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Eskel remarked as Erica finished her son and Jaskier applauded enthusiastically, praising her performance. Erica furrowed her brow at the witcher’s words.

“What does that mean?”

Eskel went on to explain the idiom to the girl, the witcher all patience and kindness as he entertained Erica’s seemingly never-ending questions. Perhaps it was the stress of the past two weeks finally catching up with Jaskier, or the fact that he had not slept properly in about as long, but the bard feared his heart might burst out of his chest.

_________

They stopped only when the sun began to set. As expected, Erica ended up falling asleep in the saddle, her skinny arms wrapped around Pegasus’ neck as far as they could reach while her face was pressed against the coarse hair of the horse’s mane. Eskel stopped near a clearing as the world around them darkened too much for the human eye to navigate the trail up the mountain safely. Jaskier knew that Eskel could carry on for several hours yet and not stumble over protruding roots or wayward rocks on the path. Jaskier ignored the way his stomach twisted anxiously at the thought that he was holding Eskel back. Instead, he tied Pegasus’ reins around a nearby tree trunk before gently prying Erica’s hands off the patient gelding’s neck and gathering her in his arms. Erica did not wake even as Jaskier carried her near the warm campfire that Eskel had already lit by casting a quick sign.

“Would you mind holding her while I get her bedroll ready?”

Eskel was in the middle of unstrapping his swords and carefully propping them against a nearby tree when Jaskier asked that question, and the way the witcher froze and hesitated almost had Jaskier regretting his decision.

“You don’t mind?” Eskel asked, his voice uncharacteristically small for a man his size. Jaskier frowned in confusion.

“Why would I mind?”

“Well, you know,” Eskel rubbed his scarred cheek in a way that Jaskier could only describe as _sheepish_.

“Oh, my dear witcher…,” Jaskier stepped closer to the witcher, offering what he hoped was a reassuring smile before gently handing Erica over to the taller man. He did not give the witcher any time to overthink this. The panicked look on Eskel’s face pulled an amused chuckle from Jaskier. “Don’t worry, Eskel. You’ve been good to us. You won’t break her. She’s sturdier than you think.”

Erica mumbled something unintelligible in her sleep and shifted slightly in Eskel’s hold. The witcher tensed when the girl’s eyes fluttered open as a sleepy ‘daddy’ left her lips. Jaskier gently carded his fingers through her hair.

“Hey sweetheart, daddy’s right here. Go back to sleep, I’m getting your bed ready.”

“Are we sleeping outside again?” Jaskier could hear the excitement in Erica’s voice despite her droopy eyelids.

“Yes sweetheart, we are, so I need to make sure you’re wrapped in all the warm furs. Be good for Eskel, okay?”

It was truly a sight to behold watching the burly witcher and the tiny girl in his arm appraise each other silently. It did not surprise Jaskier in the least when Erica was the one to break the awkward tension between them with one of her radiant smiles which could warm even the coldest of hearts. Eskel visibly deflated and even managed a smile in return, although his was more reserved. Confident Erica would be safe in the kind witcher’s arms, Jaskier busied himself preparing his daughter’s bed for the night. He laid out the padded bedroll as close to the fire as he deemed safe so Erica would not risk freezing in the night, then placed fur pelts on top of the bedroll. Once Jaskier was happy with the set-up, he went to relieve Eskel from his duties only to find that the witcher was still standing in the same spot staring in disbelief at the little girl in his arms, who was fast asleep.

“Out like a light,” Jaskier whispered as he gently pried his daughter from Eskel’s arms, “the past weeks have been exhausting for her.”

Jaskier gently lowered Erica onto the bedroll and tucked her in so that only her face was poking out of the fur pelts. The girl let out a content sigh and curled into the warmth, settling in properly for the night. Jaskier kissed his daughter goodnight before rising to his full height and meeting Eskel’s eyes again.

“I don’t know about you, dear witcher, but I am absolutely famished.”

“There’s some jerky, cheese and bread in my packs,” Eskel offered, “I’ll go hunting tomorrow for some game. Will the little one need some food tonight?”

“There’s no use trying to wake her up now,” Jaskier tone softened as his eyes came to rest on his daughter’s sleeping form, “she needs her rest, and she gets grumpy when she’s tired. If she wakes through the night I’ll make sure she’s fed.”

Eskel hands Jaskier some of the bread Harald had baked for them that same morning. It still tasted fresh, which was a step up from the stale bread Jaskier had fed himself and Erica when they were busy running away from Dijkstra’s men. He topped the bread with goat’s cheese and bits of jerky, letting out a long satisfied moan when the flavours hit his palate. Eskel chuckled at the sound, a warm and rumbling noise that shook Jaskier to the core.

“Good to know not all witchers have a stick up their lovely bottoms,” Jaskier commented, earning himself a quizzical look from Eskel. The bard elaborated, “I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen Geralt smile in the two decades I’ve known him.”

“Geralt is a complicated man,” Eskel said in the other witcher’s defence, “he’s a totally different witcher on the Path than he is at the keep during winter. You’ll see for yourself once we get there. Ciri has softened him.”

“I’ll believe _that_ when I see it, dear Eskel.”

“If it’s not rude for me to ask,” the witcher spoke after a short pause, “what happened between you and Geralt the last time you saw each other?”

Jaskier tensed. He was in two minds whether he should tell Eskel that the scars were still too fresh and Jaskier would rather not prod at them yet. Geralt’s scathing words still hurt when the bard lingered on them too much. It was not only the words that were painful, but the very vivid image of Geralt staring at Jaskier with irritation and frustration reflected in the amber orbs. The words had not just been carelessly thrown around – Geralt had meant every single one of them. _That_ thought, the thought that while Jaskier had invested two decades of his life in this friendship Geralt might only have ever seen the bard as a nuisance, hurt more than any insult ever could.

“It’s a long story,” Jaskier eventually breathed out, his stomach churning at his own words, “one that doesn’t end well. I used to be the kind of bard who favoured stories with a happy ending.”

“I truly don’t wish to pry, it’s just… well, that winter when Geralt arrived with Ciri he looked miserable. He would barely speak to any of us, barely speak to _me_. The only person that mattered was Ciri and Geralt gave her all his attention. I just… something happened to him, something other than the burden of caring for his child surprise. I never found out what it was.”

“Were you and Geralt close before?” Jaskier asked, partly to change the subject but also unwilling to let go of the conversation yet. Geralt had remained a mystery to Jaskier even after years of travelling together. If the White Wolf would not satisfy Jaskier’s curiosity, then perhaps another witcher could.

“Close?” Eskel’s lips twisted into a lopsided grin and the amber eyes softened. “Our instructor, Vesemir, used to say that Geralt and I were like two drops of water. We were both claimed by Vesemir through the law of surprise and were brought to Kaer Morhen the same year, only weeks apart maybe. We were the same age, I think. We looked so alike instructors often mistook us for biological brothers.”

Jaskier drank Eskel’s every word, not daring to interrupt the witcher’s tale for fear Eskel would decide against telling his story and leave Jaskier hanging.

“We grew up together, caused mischief together, trained together… I can safely say that Geralt was my best friend back then, and still is my best friend today. We were always close. So you can imagine my surprise when he refused to talk to me that first winter he returned with Ciri. I knew something must’ve happened, but as you probably know, Geralt can be especially stubborn when the fancy takes him.”

Eskel heaved a heavy sigh as he stoked the campfire, adding some dry leaves and twigs to keep the flames going a little while longer. Erica shifted and mumbled unintelligibly in her sleep, but otherwise remained unperturbed as the two men spoke between themselves. Jaskier cleared his throat before speaking again:

“We were hunting a dragon,” he began, refusing to meet Eskel’s gaze as he reminisced that fateful day, “well, no that’s not exactly what happened. Geralt refused the contract at first. He said that witchers don’t kill dragons. It was not until that damned sorceress arrived that Geralt decided to join that stupid adventure.”

“Yennefer.” Eskel mumbled and for the first time since they had met, Jaskier heard a faint hint of irritation seep through the witcher’s tone. “She’s always bad news.”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” Jaskier agreed, a bitter laugh pushing past his lips, “I won’t bore you with the details of the adventure and get straight to the point, if you don’t mind. Geralt and Yennefer had a fight, she left him, then Geralt took it out on me. Said some pretty hurtful things. He may have told me that if life could give him one blessing it would be to take me off his hands.”

Jaskier let out a shaky breath and blinked away the tears of frustration welling up in his eyes. No, he would not cry, not in front of Eskel. Not in front of anyone, for that matter. He needed to be strong. His eyes came to rest on his sleeping daughter, drawing strength from her presence, filling his mind with happy memories of her and how her presence in his life had made all the difference in the world.

“If you’ll allow, bard,” Eskel’s baritone voice broke the silence again, “I would like to tell you something about Geralt. Not to justify his actions, or even excuse them, but merely to help you understand him a little bit better. Geralt was an abandoned child. Most children at Kaer Morhen were, mind you, but the majority of those who were _knew_ that they had been abandoned. Geralt, well… he was in deep denial about how he came to the witchers.”

“When I first met him, he told me his mother would come back for him. Geralt was convinced she would return and take him away from Kaer Morhen, he was convinced that he would not be staying for longer than a few weeks. He even said that once his mother got here, he would try to convince her to take me with them. Even back then our friendship was strong. Few weeks turned to a few months, a few months to a few years… and yet, I would sometimes wake up at night and find Geralt staring out the window, ‘keeping watch’ he would say.”

Eskel paused long enough to take a sip from his waterskin. When he resumed his tale, he stared blankly into the fire and his tone grew sadder.

“After more years had passed, Geralt convinced himself his mother had passed away, because in his mind it was the only rational explanation as to why she had not come back for him. He was moping for days, mourning her, crying out for her in his sleep. Vesemir had to intervene then. He told Geralt the truth and, well… Geralt was never the same after that.”

Jaskier’s heart ached for young Geralt. For all of adult Geralt’s flaws, his insensitivity, his complete and utter disregard for Jaskier’s feelings, not everything about the White Wolf was bad. Jaskier would not have put up with the witcher for twenty years if he was not sure that Geralt was a good man, deep down. Admittedly, blinded by his own pain and anger, Jaskier had conveniently forgotten all the times that Geralt had shown a different side to him.

“I never knew,” Jaskier eventually admitted in a small voice, “Geralt never talked about his past. He never talked much at all.”

“I don’t think Geralt realises just how much his childhood traumas still impact him and his relationships with others. He clings onto the wrong people. That Yennefer, what they have… it’s not healthy. She gives him just enough to keep him on the hook. He fears being abandoned by the people closest to him, so he pushes them away first. It hurts less that way you see,” Eskel’s eyes met Jaskier’s and the bard could see the shadow of a sad smile on the handsome face, “that doesn’t excuse the way he treated you. He should’ve known better than to lose his temper like that.”

“I probably wouldn’t have left if he hadn’t been cruel, dear Eskel. I think, for all his flaws, Geralt was smart enough to realise that.”

The two men went quiet and were content sitting in companionable silence. After a while, Jaskier went to lie next to Erica on the bedroll and pulled his daughter close to him. Neither he nor Eskel slept much that night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am reminded just how much I hate posting on AO3 using my phone, but my laptop is being a pain, so...
> 
> If there are any formatting issues, that's why, although I double checked before posting that it looked fine. Bear with me. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who reacted to the fic so far - it's lovely to see so many people enjoy reading this self indulgent piece. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
> 
> And without further ado, here's even more self-indulgence (with a hint of angst to sweeten the fluff).

Jaskier dosed off several hours shy of sunrise. When he woke up to find that Eskel had disappeared from the camp, Jaskier’s first reaction was to panic; what if Eskel had decided to go on without them and had left a father and his daughter to starve and freeze in the woods? Panic quickly gave way to relief when he spied Scorpion still tied to a tree, grazing lazily and barely paying attention to the humans sleeping mere feet away from him. Jaskier suddenly felt movement against his chest and his eyes fell to his daughter who was already awake and blinking sleepily up at him. He tenderly brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear and smiled softly when her eyes met his. 

“Morning, daddy,” she mumbled sweetly.

“Morning, dear heart. Have you been awake for long?”

Erica shook her head as she huddled closer to Jaskier for warmth. He could feel her tiny body shivering and was quick to wrap her up in the cosy pelts even if the action left him feeling the biting cold of the frosty ground beneath them. The fire had died down to glowing embers and was not providing any warmth. Eskel must have been gone for a while - he had been the one stoking the campfire all night while he was keeping watch. Scorpion's ears flickered in interest when Jaskier and Erica began chatting quietly between themselves, but the stallion remained otherwise unperturbed by his surroundings. 

“Where’s ‘Skel, daddy?” Erica asked once she realised that the witcher was nowhere to be seen. 

“I don’t know, sweetheart. He’ll be back, though. He left his horse here, you see?”

Erica looked over to Scorpion and waved sweetly at the horse, who merely snorted noncommittally in return. The girl seemed pleased with the response and so, still wrapped in her fur blankets, she walked towards the stallion who eyed her curiously from the side. Jaskier watched closely for any sign of distress coming from the beast, ready to step in just in case Scorpion caught fright and decided to charge at Erica. 

“Be careful, darling. Remember what I told you about getting too close to animals you don’t know,” Jaskier gently reminded the girl. 

It turned out that Scorpion was as mellow-tempered and gentle as his owner, and Jaskier did not need to worry about the horse lashing out at all. Scorpion allowed Erica to pet his nose, nickering softly when the girl placed a quick peck on the soft skin right next to his nostrils. Jaskier joined his daughter while making sure to stay in Scorpion’s line of vision so the horse saw him approaching. Sensing no fear coming from the horse, Jaskier picked Erica up so she could reach Scorpion’s head more easily. Scorpion delighted in the attention until a loud whistle had the stallion snapping his head up suddenly, ears twitching forward in alert. Jaskier followed the horse’s eyes and noticed Eskel in the distance returning to camp with what looked to be two dead hares dangling from the witcher’s large hand. Scorpion whinnied happily at the sight of his owner. 

“Eskel!” Erica exclaimed excitedly when she caught sight of him mere seconds later. 

“Good morning, little one,” Eskel greeted her warmly in return, waving the hares in Jaskier and Erica's direction, “I hope you’re both hungry.”

Eskel’s words were met with the loud rumbling of hungry stomachs. They spent the next while cooking the hares over the fire, which Eskel rekindled with a simple hand gesture that had Erica gawking at him like he had just plucked the moon, sun and stars from the sky. Jaskier had grown accustomed to witcher magic over the years, and he tended to forget that his daughter had never seen anything like it before. Erica kept staring at Eskel all through breakfast to the point where Jaskier had to tell her off because he could sense that the witcher was growing uncomfortable under his daughter’s admirative gaze. 

“Sweetheart, it’s rude to-”

“How did you do that?” Erica blurted out before Jaskier had a chance to finish his sentence.

“What do you mean, little one?” Eskel asked between two bites of hare. 

“The fire! You used your fingers! How did you do that?” 

Eskel threw the hare bones into the fire and wiped his greasy fingers on his breeches before leaning forward and staring intently at the little girl. Jaskier noticed the grin tugging at the corner of Eskel’s lips as the witcher raised his left hand until it was level with Erica's face and in such a way that his palm was facing the sky. Jaskier noticed Eskel’s fingers twitch slightly and soon after, a little flame appeared in the palm of his hand and flickered ominously in the early morning light. Erica’s jaw went slack in surprise. 

“Can you teach me?” she asked with a hopeful glimmer in her eyes. 

“I would love to, little one,” Eskel started, softening his tone considerably when he noticed Erica’s crestfallen expression, “but it won’t be possible.”

“Why not?” Erica questioned, her voice closer to a whine.

“Because,” Eskel’s voice dropped to a whisper like he was about to share the world's most guarded secret with the girl, “a magician never reveals his secrets.”

__________

They travelled to the sound of Erica and Jaskier’s singing for a while until the girl grew tired and settled for admiring the scenery instead. Eskel was still leading the way with Scorpion trailing the cart of supplies up the mountain path. Jaskier held Pegasus’ reins tightly and guided the horse, occasionally slipping the gelding a cube of sugar to reward him for his hard work. The poor horse had been made to work hard the past couple of weeks and was probably looking forward to some well-earned rest and, hopefully, as much hay as his heart desired. 

“Are we there yet?” Erica asked for the third time since setting off, and ever-patient Eskel replied in an even voice:

“Not yet, little one. Still have a long way to go.”

Erica asked the same question four more times before they finally stopped for the night after Eskel spied a cave opening which would shield them from the frosty winds and light drizzle that had settled over the pass. Jaskier could sense his daughter’s restlessness and he was beginning to regret letting her sleep for so long the previous day. Erica was unlikely to go to sleep any time soon, and she was growing steadily more bored of the journey up the mountain. Jaskier knew that she was a mere few hours away from a full-blown tantrum. He was proven right when Erica decided that she didn’t want to eat the leftover hare from that same morning. 

“I don’t want it!” she whined after Jaskier handed her a piece of reheated hare meat, “I want cheese and bread.”

“Well Erica, this is what you’re getting. Only a few more days darling and I promise you’ll get to eat other stuff, too.”

Erica crossed her arms before her chest and huffed, refusing to accept the piece of meat that her father was offering her. Jaskier’s patience was running thin. He had not slept well in nearly three weeks, he had been walking up the trail for two days in a row and the lack of proper nutrition had left him feeling irritable. He was in no mood to deal with Erica’s temper tantrum now. 

“Erica, this is all you’re getting. Either you eat it or you go to your bed hungry.”

“I don’t want it!” the little girl snapped angrily, refusing to look at Jaskier. 

"That's a real shame," said Eskel with a shrug without looking up from his own dinner, which he wolfed down at record speed, "because little girls who don't eat their hare don't get any honeycomb as a treat."

Erica's eyes widened. Jaskier couldn't say what exactly had done it - being bribed with honeycomb or being told off by an adult who wasn't Jaskier - but Eskel's words had the desired effect anyhow. Erica eyed the piece of meat in Jaskier's hand moodily before extending her hand and taking the food from her father. Jaskier managed to feed her at least five pieces before the girl stated that she had had enough. Erica received her reward in the shape of a square of sticky honeycomb from Eskel once everyone was done with their meal. The honeycomb barely touched the sides as Erica all but inhaled the sweet treat. Jaskier could tell that his daughter was still in a foul mood though, and thus decided to let her brood while Jaskier helped Eskel tidy up and set up the bedrolls. 

"You were very persuasive," remarked Jaskier, earning himself a knowing look from Eskel. 

"You don't spend most of your life in Kaer Morhen without picking up a few tricks on how to deal with fussy and unruly boys. I spent many winters helping the instructors with new recruits. I've seen most of it."

"And just when I thought you couldn't surprise me anymore, my dear Eskel."

Eskel kept watch that night, again, despite Jaskier's insistence. As the evening dragged on, Erica’s sulking eventually came to an end and she even requested a bedtime story from Jaskier when he was getting her ready for bed. Wrapped up in the fur blankets and huddled close to the campfire, the bard did what he did best; telling stories, spinning tales, entertaining his audience even if that audience only consisted of a tired witcher and a grumpy little girl - it was an audience all the same, and what kind of bard would Jaskier be if he didn't do his damn best to please the crowd? 

"Once upon a time there was a farmer who had a daughter. They lived together in a small village at the edge of a dark and haunted forest. Beyond that forest, so rumour had it, stood a vast castle that had once belonged to a very handsome prince. Many people were envious of the prince's riches and beauty, and many desired to be as wealthy as him. One sorcerer, whose jealousy knew no bounds, had one day turned the prince into a hideous beast. The sorcerer wished for nothing more than to cause the handsome prince misfortune and he rejoiced in watching the prince lose all his wealth, friends and family because of his deformity. The only way to break the spell was for the beast to find true love and receive the gift of true love's kiss."

Erica slumped against Jaskier's side, her eyelids heavy with sleep although she tried to fight her own tiredness so she could hear the end of the story which she knew by heart. It was her favourite fairytale and Jaskier never tired of telling it and watching Erica's eyes light up with glee. 

"The farmer's daughter, who was known in the village as Isobel the Peculiar One, didn't believe in the old wives' tales. She set out on an adventure to prove the villagers wrong and show them that there was no beast living in that abandoned castle beyond the dark and haunted forest. She set off on a bright morning with her faithful horse, Ebony, and through the forest she bravely went.  _ There's nothing scary or haunted about this forest _ , she thought as she rode along the dirt path,  _ just a regular old forest _ . Isobel's horse was fast and swift so that she reached the castle by the late afternoon."

Erica stifled a yawn and it was truly endearing to watch the girl struggle to keep awake only so she could hear the end of the story. Jaskier tightened his hold around his daughter's small body and brought one of his hands to her hair where he gently carded his fingers through the thick dark length. The soothing gesture, he knew, would send Erica to sleep in a matter of minutes. 

"The beast had spied Isobel long before she reached the castle gates. He was unsure of how to act. At first, he was worried; why would this beautiful girl come all the way through the haunted forest if not to kill him? Then, the beast was confused; there were no soldiers following the girl, no angry mobs or hunters, so it seemed very unlikely that she wanted to hurt him. Why, then, was this girl riding to the castle? Could she be the one who would break the curse laid upon him a century ago? Could she be his destined soulmate? The beast felt hopeful only for a brief instant. His dreams were soon quelled by his own self-loathing and growing insecurities. After all, who could ever learn to love a beast?"

When Jaskier looked down at Erica he noticed the girl was fast asleep in the safety of his arms, her pink lips parted as soft snores echoed through the cave. Jaskier carefully gathered Erica in his arms and gently deposited her on the padded bedroll laid out for her. 

"How does the story end?" Eskel asked after a prolonged silence, startling Jaskier out of his own thoughts. The bard briefly wondered if the witcher was mocking him, but when their eyes met Jaskier saw a flash of  _ something _ reflected in Eskel's eyes which he could not quite place. The witcher's question was genuine, that much was sure. Jaskier was not too sure what to make of this. Geralt had never shown much interest in his stories or songs. It was nice to feel appreciated. 

"Exactly as you would expect, dear witcher. It is a fairytale, after all."

"In my experience, pretty girls don't tend to fall in love with beasts," said Eskel bitterly and Jaskier's heart broke at the words as well as the tone. Eskel had clearly been led to believe that beasts, people who were different and did not conform to society's idea of normal, were not worthy of affection or love. More importantly, however, the witcher had been made to feel like one. 

Jaskier hated it. 

"I'll let you in on a secret, then. In my version of the story, Isobel sees past the beast's brash and rough exterior and realises that there is more to a person than youth, looks and beauty. There are other versions, of course, but this is the one I wish to teach my daughter."

"Hmm. A pretty fairytale, nothing more."

Jaskier bit back a sigh. Damn those witchers and their pessimistic, self-deprecating outlooks on life. Jaskier went to sit next to Eskel at the edge of the cave, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from the witcher's body. 

"Fairytales, apart from being entertaining, are also educational. There's a lesson to be learned from all of them. In this one, the main lesson can be resumed by using popular idioms; don't judge a book by its cover, or beauty is only skin deep, or more accurately yet, one sees clearly only with the heart." 

Jaskier tilted his head and glanced directly at the unscarred side of Eskel's face. The witcher looked no older than mid-thirties, but considering Eskel and Geralt had apparently grown up together, his real age was probably closer to a hundred. Jaskier noticed the crow's feet at the corner of Eskel's eyes, the only traces left by age on the handsome face. The creases between Eskel's eyebrows testified of an incorrigible habit to frown in worry - for even though Jaskier had only known Eskel for a couple of days, the bard knew in his heart that the witcher was a worrier. An overthinker. A careful strategist. 

No monster, though, at least none that Jaskier could see. 

____________

On the fourth morning of their journey, Jaskier woke up wishing for nothing other than a hot bath. The last time he and Erica had washed had been well over a week ago in a freezing cold stream halfway between Flotsam and Ard Carraigh. Jaskier counted it as a blessing that Erica was not in as dire need of a bath as he and Eskel were, mostly owing to the fact that she had barely exerted herself while riding Pegasus for most of their journey. Jaskier, on the other hand, positively reeked of horse and sweat. He truly hoped that Eskel's sensitive witcher nose wouldn't be too offended by the stench… and that the smell would wash out of his clothes. 

Jaskier could not wait to get to their destination and scrub two weeks' worth of grime and dirt from his skin and from under his fingernails. He should have been used to that kind of lifestyle after his adventures with Geralt, but nearly six years of sedentary life enjoying the luxury of regular baths was not something Jaskier was willing to go without any longer. Desperate times called for desperate measures, though. Jaskier reminded himself that not before long they would reach Kaer Morhen and he and Erica would finally be able to relax. 

Jaskier decided not to worry about Geralt's reaction to the bard's presence at the witchers' keep. There would be time for that later. 

____________

On the morning of the sixth day, Jaskier spied Kaer Morhen in the distance. The witchers' keep at once looked exactly like Jaskier expected and totally different from anything he could have ever imagined. The tall stone walls, standing proud and strong, sent a clear message to anyone who dared and indeed was able to come close to the keep. Kaer Morhen was old - very old. Caer a'Muirehen, the Keep of the Elder Sea. So old that even the sea which used to surround the imposing batisse had retreated in the face of Kaer Morhen's grandeur. The songs were practically writing themselves... if only Jaskier had not sold his lute back in Novigrad. However, the closer the small group got to the keep the more Jaskier realised that, much like the witchers that inhabit them, these walls proudly bore the many scars inflicted upon them over the years. The obvious signs of disrepair did not take away from the keep's magnificence, however. They only added to its rugged charm.

"The others will be able to see us from here," Eskel told Jaskier later that morning when they stopped to replenish their water skins and to let the horses have a drink. The air was growing colder by the day and Jaskier could sense that the first snow wasn't far off. They were still shielded from the worst gusts of wind below in Morhen valley. 

"Oh." Jaskier swallowed thickly at the thought. "That's convenient."

"What's the matter?" Concern was evident in Eskel's voice.

"Nothing, nothing." Jaskier was quick to change the subject else Eskel decided to delve too deeply into the bard's unresolved anxieties about seeing Geralt again after not seeing each other for six years. "How long until we reach the keep?" 

"If we don't stop for too long we can make the last leg before sundown. Vesemir will have beds and food ready for us if he sees us travellin’ up. I wonder if Lambert and Aiden already made it."

"Are those your brothers?" Jaskier asked conversationally while keeping a close eye on Erica, who was busy talking softly to the horses and gently petting them whenever Scorpion or Pegasus lowered their heads enough for her to reach. 

"Lambert is. He's younger than Geralt and me. We sometimes call him baby wolf or pup when we feel like winding him up," there was a fondness to Eskel's tone and Jaskier found himself eager to meet this Lambert, "Aiden is Lambert's partner. We, uh… Geralt, Vesemir and I don't see eye to eye with Aiden a lot of the time, but he makes Lambert happy. Until that changes, we tolerate him."

Jaskier still had so many questions for Eskel. He might as well take advantage of the witcher's talkativeness while he could. Geralt had always been so stingy with the details, whether he spoke about his contracts, his family or his past. In the span of the last six days, Jaskier had learned more about his supposed best friend than he had in two decades of knowing him. All thanks to Eskel the conversationalist. Jaskier wondered if Eskel had been born into a noble family before becoming a witcher. He certainly spoke with the same eloquence and politeness, and had proven himself the perfect gentlemen over the past days they had travelled together.. 

"Is this where we're going?" Erica pointed to Kaer Morhen demonstratively. 

"Yes it is, my dearest heart. Eskel thinks we'll get there by sundown if we hurry."

"Will I see the Princess of Kaer Morhen?" 

That question earned Jaskier a quizzical look from Eskel. 

"The princess of Kaer Morhen?" the witcher repeated, clearly expecting Jaskier to elaborate but before the bard could explain himself Erica was more already filling Eskel in. 

"You know, princess Cirilla. The child of destiny!" 

"Ah, I see," Eskel said as understanding dawned on him, "I'm sure you'll see a lot of Ciri during the winter. She should be busy with training and her lessons with Vesemir, but she has a cheeky tendency to wander off and skip said lessons."

"What child doesn't at that age? I know I did. My tutors were losing hope. They told my father I was too hopeless and distracted to teach. As it turns out, I'm an exceptionally quick learner if I'm working with the right teachers."

Eskel chuckled warmly at the anecdote, the action tugging at his scars grotesquely and yet, Jaskier wished that Eskel would smile more often. It was a good look on him. 

"Geralt always gives Ciri into trouble for trying to escape her lessons with Vesemir, which is nothing short of hypocrisy coming from him. He and I rarely made it to any of our lessons or anywhere that wasn't sword and sign practice."

"You two sound like real menaces as children," Jaskier remarked fondly. 

"You don't know the half of it, bard."

_____________

"We're almost there," Eskel told them as he carefully led Scorpion and the cart the stallion trailed behind him across the shallow stream, "we only need to walk up this little path and we'll be at the gates."

Eskel let out a sharp, loud whistle and looked up as if he expected to see someone peering down at them. He probably was, Jaskier mused, but the anxious knot in his stomach wouldn't allow him to look up for fear of seeing Geralt standing there. He was getting impossibly close to a confrontation with his best friend for the first time since the dragon hunt six years ago. The jitters were absolutely justified, Jaskier reassured himself. He just hoped that Geralt would not make things difficult for him and Erica. There was no ignoring the feelings Geralt's memory roused in Jaskier anymore. 

Time to face the music. 

"You're thinking too much, bard," Eskel gently nudged Jaskier's shoulder with his own, "all will be fine."

"What if it isn't?" Jaskier found himself asking, and he hated how small and insecure his voice sounded. 

"It will be. I promise."

Somehow, Jaskier believed him. 

When they reached the main gates, Eskel knocked forcefully on the heavy wooden doors three times to announce his arrival. Jaskier stayed close to Pegasus and Erica, shooting the girl a reassuring smile when he noticed the uncertain expression on her face. He gently squeezed her calf, pulling a giggle from Erica as she squirmed away from his tickling grasp. Soon after, Jaskier's head snapped back to the doors when they opened with a clang as the rusty hinges moaned under the action. Eskel clicked his tongue to encourage Scorpion to pull the cart for the last couple of yards, followed closely by Jaskier, Pegasus and Erica. 

"Eskel!" an unfamiliar voice shouted from over their heads, forcing the small group to crane their necks in order to identify the mystery speaker. The voice belonged to another witcher with short dark hair and sporting a full beard. 

"Lambert, I didn't expect to see you here so soon," Eskel shouted back in greeting. The other witcher - Lambert - jumped off the high wall and landed skillfully on his feet with feline elegance. Without a word, Eskel and Lambert wound their shoulders around the other in a tight, albeit brief hug. 

"Aiden, that dumbass, got hurt on a hunt in Kaedwen. Stubborn asshole would've rather died than admit in how much fucking pain he was. We were running low on every single potion and I took the executive decision to travel to Kaer Morhen early this year. Fuck me sideways, Eskel, you look like you haven't slept in years."

Jaskier flinched at every curse word that tumbled past the witcher's lips, and even more so when he heard Erica gasp loudly on top of Pegasus. 

"That's four bad words!" the girl shouted before pointing an accusatory finger at Lambert. "That's four crowns in the swear jar, mister!" 

While Jaskier hushed Erica and did his best to hide his mortification, Eskel's booming laughter echoed against the walls of the keep. It was the first time Jaskier had heard such a vocal reaction from the bulky witcher and the sound was infectious with how joyful it sounded to Jaskier's ears. 

"You heard the young lady, Lambert. Pay up!" 

"Wait, what?" Lambert glanced at Jaskier and Erica, catlike eyes narrowed suspiciously which did not seem to faze the young girl in the slightest. She stared at the offending witcher with her arms crossed before her chest. "We don't even have a swear jar!" 

"Might be time to introduce one then. I'll take care of your four crowns in the meantime." Eskel extended an expectant hand, a shit-eating grin plastered on the handsome features. The stark contrast between the solemn and serious witcher Jaskier and Erica had journeyed up the mountain with and  _ this _ version of Eskel was staggering. It was like watching him turn into a completely different witcher. Inside the walls of Kaer Morhen, inside the safety of his home, Eskel was at ease, relaxed and carefree. It suited the witcher immensely. 

"Fuck off, Eskel!" 

"That's four crowns, isn't it little one?" Eskel directed his question at Erica and received an enthusiastic 'yes' in response. Lambert grumbled something unintelligible under his breath - probably another string of curses, Jaskier guessed - before reaching inside his pocket and slamming four golden coins into Eskel's awaiting hand. 

"I'll win them back at Gwent anyway," said Lambert before sticking his tongue out at Erica. "Also, little girl, no one likes a tattle tale." 

Lambert turned his back on them and disappeared, leaving Jaskier staring dumbly after him. There had been no awkward questions, no suspicious glares thrown his way, no biting jabs. Lambert had seemingly accepted the presence of a bard and a young girl at Kaer Morhen without complaints. Eskel, always the perceptive one, noticed Jaskier's confusion and offered a reassuring smile. 

"Remember they could see us as soon as we entered the valley. They knew we were coming and they had time to get used to the idea."

Jaskier lead Pegasus into the main courtyard after the two men, where he found Eskel already in conversation with another witcher. Judging by the wrinkled face, Jaskier guessed that witcher was considerably older than the rest of them. The two men greeted each other by pressing their foreheads together affectionately. 

"Who are these people, daddy?" Erica asked him, to which the three witchers turned to stare at her. The girl didn't seem to notice the three pairs of yellow eyes on her as she awaited Jaskier's response expectantly. 

"These are, uh-," and right there Jaskier was stumped, because it didn't feel like his place to introduce Geralt's family, most of whom he barely knew, to Erica. Thankfully, Eskel came to the rescue. 

"This grumpy witcher there is Lambert, one of my brothers. And that is Vesemir, he used to be our teacher when we were your age, little one," Eskel introduced the two witchers, pointing to both Lambert and Vesemir in turn as he mentioned their names. 

"And who might you be, child?" Vesemir asked, his voice kind and calm, although Jaskier could discern the authoritative undertones that for decades, if not centuries, had demanded respect from the people around him. 

"My name is Erica," the girl introduced herself, flashing all the witchers a dazzling smile. 

"And this is Jaskier, Geralt's bard and Erica's father," Eskel explained, which had both Vesemir and Lambert's eyes widen in surprise. 

"Jaskier? Shit, I never thought that-" 

"Ah, Geralt, there you are," Vesemir interrupted Lambert before the witcher could utter another word and at the mention of Geralt's name, Jaskier's heart dropped in his chest. There he appeared, seemingly out of thin air like some kind of cruel apparition, Geralt of Rivia in all his glory. Not much had changed about him in six years, Jaskier thought, except perhaps that he looked slightly less tense than when they had last parted. Such was the power of Kaer Morhen; she made the witchers within her walls feel safe, relaxed, able to let their guard down. Kaer Morhen was not just a home, it was a sanctuary. 

Jaskier struggled to meet Geralt's eyes, but he did anyway. As usual, Geralt schooled his face into a neutral expression safe for the pursing of his lips which betrayed the white wolf's surprise. When they made eye contact, Jaskier suddenly felt like running away under the scrutiny of Geralt's amber eyes. A whirlwind of emotions raged inside Jaskier and he felt dizzy trying to address all of them. The moment only lasted a brief second before Geralt's attention fell on Eskel, who was positively beaming at the other witcher. A soft grin graced Geralt's lips as he and Eskel fell into each other's arms in greeting. Their hug lasted longer than Eskel and Lambert's, though not by much, and involved an awful lot of firm taps on the other's back.

"You're late," Geralt accused, "I was beginning to worry until Lambert saw you down in the valley"

Jaskier was not used to seeing Geralt so openly affectionate with anyone, and the bard did his best to ignore the hints of jealousy blooming in his heart. He had to remind himself that Eskel and Geralt had known each other for nearly a century. They were not just best of friends, they were brothers - Jaskier had nothing on their life-long friendship.

Still, it hurt a little. 

"Aww hell wolf, is that your way of saying you give a damn?" Eskel teased, which earned him a heavy slap at the back of the head. "Hey! No need for that!" 

Geralt stepped away from Eskel and stayed a safe distance away from Jaskier. The White Wolf's eyes came to rest on Erica, and Jaskier instantly stepped up to Pegasus and let his daughter slip into his open arms. Jaskier kept her close as he met Geralt's confused gaze. 

"Well met, Geralt. It's been a while, but from what I can see you haven't changed much." Jaskier hated how cold his tone sounded to his ears, but the heaviness in his heart and the memory of Geralt's parting words would not let him sound any friendlier. Jaskier worried that if he allowed any kind of emotion to seep through it would open the floodgates. "This is my daughter Erica. Erica, this is Geralt. He's a…. He and daddy have known each other for a long time. Since before you were even born."

Erica eyed Geralt suspiciously, clearly picking up on her father's tone and deducing that perhaps she should not be so quick to trust Geralt. Jaskier instantly felt guilty. He didn't want his opinion of Geralt to colour Erica's judgement of him. Just as Jaskier was about to rectify his mistake, Geralt blurted out:

"A friend." The witcher noticed the confused frowns on everyone's face and cleared his throat nervously before clarifying. "I'm a friend of your dad's, little one. Well met."

Jaskier observed his daughter's reaction, ignoring his racing heart at being referred to as Geralt's friend, and was pleased to see Erica smile shyly at the White Wolf. She would be so excited to find out that this was the same Geralt of Rivia from Jaskier's songs, but he decided to tell her later. To Jaskier's surprise, Geralt returned the gesture fondly before meeting the bard's gaze again. 

"It's been a while, Jaskier. I… I know we didn't part on the best of terms and I… I just want you to know that I regret that. The Path has been awfully silent without your chatter and singing."

And that… 

That was probably the nicest thing Geralt had ever told Jaskier in their two decades of friendship. Geralt who valued his peace and quiet so much, who didn't need anybody else in his life, who had compared Jaskier's singing to a fillingless pie…  _ That _ Geralt had missed Jaskier's chatter and singing.  _ That _ Geralt regretted the way he and Jaskier had parted. Jaskier had been so convinced that he would have to fight tooth and nail for an apology, so he wasn't too sure what to do with himself. At the same time… 

Jaskier was  _ pissed.  _ How typical of Geralt to realise Jaskier meant something to him after sending the bard packing on that mountain. How typical of Geralt to start missing Jaskier's singing and chattering when the witcher started feeling lonely on the Path. Suddenly, Jaskier was not the annoying and incompetent travel companion anymore, just like his singing was no longer the fillingless pie Geralt liked to complain about. Jaskier lowered Erica to the ground, but kept her close to him. He gently covered her ears with his hands before he uttered his reply to Geralt's apology. 

"If you think that this will make up for how you've left me feeling after the dragon hunt, you self-important son of a bitch, then you've got something else coming. I'm surprised you managed to string so many words together. After twenty years of your monosyllabic grunts and huffs I was beginning to think that you were simple!"

Anger. If in doubt, fall back on anger. The anger that had been building up alongside Jaskier's hurt for six years. And Geralt thought that a few carefully chosen words would be enough to have Jaskier come running back like a love-sick puppy?

Geralt flinched at Jaskier's words. 

_ Good _ . 

"I can't. Not here, not today. I'm exhausted."

Jaskier retracted his hands from Erica's ears and rubbed his face irritably. The worst part of this little outburst was that Jaskier  _ had _ forgiven Geralt. For everything. A long time ago. He had made peace with the way they parted, he made peace with Geralt not considering him as a friend. He had forgiven him. The bastard didn't deserve Jaskier's forgiveness. The lack of sleep was catching up with him. Jaskier felt dizzy and unsteady on his feet. He could probably sleep for a week if he didn't have Erica to worry about. Erica, who was tugging at his sleeve and calling out for him with evident concern in her voice. 

"Daddy? Are you okay, daddy?" 

"Yes, child, your daddy will be fine." Vesemir's calm voice even got through to Jaskier as the bard willed his racing heart to slow down and repressed the bubbling anger that threatened to spill. "He just needs a good rest. How about I introduce you to Ciri, hm? She'll be thrilled to have someone other than old grumpy witchers to talk to."

"Princess Cirilla of Kaer Morhen?" Erica asked in a hopeful tone, her eyes shimmering with barely concealed excitement at the thought of meeting an actual princess. Vesemir frowned, but didn't question Erica's words, something which Jaskier was grateful for. 

"Sure. Come, child, follow me. If that's alright with your daddy."

Vesemir's kind eyes met Jaskier's and it was all the bard could do but nod in agreement. Erica was safe. They wouldn't hurt her here. Not the witchers, not Dijkstra, not Dijkstra's men. Jaskier watched Vesemir guide Erica away from the courtyard, listening to her excitedly chattering away. 

Safe. Erica was safe.  _ They _ were safe. 

Unable to support his weight any longer, Jaskier's knees buckled under him as he collapsed from exhaustion. 

TBC. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I don't apologise for the cliffhanger.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, this is a slightly longer chapter - it wasn't meant to be, but my muse struck as I was proofreading it the first time.

Jaskier woke up with the worst headache of his life, but at least he was warm and comfortable. The surface he was resting on was soft and reminded him of the down feather mattresses he used to sleep on as a child in Lettenhove. It took Jaskier's eyes several seconds to adjust to the light cast by the roaring fire in the hearth. The memories of the previous couple of days came rushing back as Jaskier scanned his surroundings. The room he was in was spartanly furnished; other than the four poster bed, the place featured a single chair in one corner and a tired-looking desk by the window. The dusty drapes had been drawn to block any natural light from penetrating the room, and upon closer inspection Jaskier noticed the tears in the fabric where mites had probably feasted on it. The sheets, on the other hand, smelled fresh and had that crispy texture to them that one expected of a high street inn in well-off parts of a city. 

It was not the most luxurious accommodation Jaskier had ever stayed in, but it was safe and that was all that mattered for the moment. 

Once Jaskier was fully awake his thoughts instantly turned to his daughter, who was nowhere to be seen. Had they perhaps put her in a different room? Jaskier would much rather have Erica sleep in the same room as him at least until the girl was comfortable enough. Sleeping in a room by herself in a strange castle would probably leave Erica feeling really anxious. Jaskier had to find her and make sure she was alright. He pushed the covers to one side and headed for the window the second he was out of bed. He peeked behind the drapes and noticed the star-speckled sky above him. Jaskier guessed that he had only fallen asleep for a couple of hours and he was surprised at how refreshed he felt after his cat nap. He decided to go find his hosts and apologise for the terrible first impression he had given them of himself. 

The door to his room was suddenly pushed open, startling Jaskier in the process. He spun around in alarm only to be met with the sight of Eskel carrying a tray with what looked like a mug of steaming hot tea and some slices of toast. The witcher looked surprised to see Jaskier out of bed. 

"I was just coming up to wake you and offer you some food. Forgive me for barging in, I expected you to still be asleep."

Jaskier dismissed Eskel's apology by making a vague gesture with his hand and smiling softly at the witcher. 

"Don't worry about it, dearest Eskel. That cat nap did wonders for me. I feel rejuvenated. Where is Erica?" 

"With Vesemir and Ciri in the library. Jaskier….," Eskel walked to the table and deposited the tray on it before locking eyes with the bard. His brows were furrowed in a confused frown. "You do realise that you've been sleeping ever since you collapsed in the courtyard. That was yesterday afternoon."

Jaskier was speechless for a hot minute as his mind processed Eskel's words and once he finally made sense of them, his heart raced anxiously in his chest. How could he have slept for so long? What about Erica? She must be so worried about him and wondering why her father had left her surrounded by those strange men without Jaskier there to reassure her. Where had she been sleeping? Had she slept at all? A warm and heavy hand came to rest on his shoulder, grounding him, gently pulling him out of his spiralling thoughts. Jaskier's eyes snapped up and met Eskel's golden gaze, losing himself in the honey orbs. 

"Breathe, Jaskier. Breathe."

"I'm… I'm sorry, I…. A whole day? What about… Erica and… Our horse, we… I'm sorry."

"Jaskier, listen to me. Focus on the sound of my voice." Jaskier tried to do as he was told, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to think straight as the panic took over. He tried, though. He tried really hard. "Jaskier, tell me five things you can see."

"Wh-what?"

"Identify five things you can see and say them out loud." 

Eskel's voice was so calm, his tone so patient, that Jaskier found himself trying even harder to comply with the request. His eyes looked around the room and found the bed first. In the far corner, a chair. Right next to him, the table. In front of him, Eskel. Right in his line of vision, the wolf medallion around the witcher's neck. 

"Bed. Chair. Table. Eskel. Medallion."

"Good, very good. Now tell me four things you can feel."

That one seemed infinitely harder, because the sudden panic had left Jaskier feeling numb. He closed his eyes and focused on his body, on any sensation that felt real despite his anxious episode. Eskel's hand on his shoulder. Jaskier's hair tickling his ears. His twitching fingers grazing each other. His cold feet on the bare ground. 

He said all of these out loud and felt himself coming back to reality. 

"Excellent. Keep going. Three you can hear," Eskel prompted him, his hand never leaving Jaskier's shoulder. 

"The crackling of the fire. The crickets outside. And the sound of your breathing."

Jaskier felt his heart settle in his chest as the muscles in his body began to relax. The voices which mere seconds ago were screaming at him to 'run, fight, run, find Erica, run' quietened down as the panic subsided. Eskel asked him to name two things Jaskier could smell, and he answered with ash and firewood. 

"And finally, one thing you can taste."

"I can't taste anything," Jaskier admitted sheepishly, pulling a soft chuckle from Eskel. 

"What's your favourite thing to taste, then?" 

Jaskier paused. He couldn't remember the last time someone had asked him that. There were many things Jaskier liked the taste of - fine wine, expensive cheese, sweet fruit, caramelised apples. It was nearly impossible to choose. The Continent had so much to offer, flavours Jaksier had never had the chance to taste yet. Before Jaskier's mind wandered too deeply into tangential philosophical ramblings, he settled for the first thing that came to mind.

"Almond cakes."

Eskel's hand didn't leave his shoulder until Jaskier's breathing had completely evened out. The witcher smiled reassuringly, one hand reaching for the mug of tea which he then handed to Jaskier, who silently accepted it and sipped on the brew carefully. The herby flavour combined with the sweet aftertaste of honey tasted heavenly on Jaskier's tongue. Only then did he realise how thirsty he was. He managed to burn his mouth and tongue with how quickly he downed the tea. Eskel clicked his tongue at him disapprovingly, like he was scolding a stubborn horse or an unruly child. 

"Slowly! It won't run away."

"Don't use parent talk on me!" Jaskier scoffed in affront. "In case you've forgotten, I haven't drank anything in over a day."

Eskel had the decency to lower his eyes self-consciously and Jaskier instantly felt guilty for using that defensive tone on the witcher, who had after all been nothing but patient and helpful. Jaskier bit his lip as his free hand came to rest on Eskel's muscular arm. It felt firm and warm under his fingertips.

"Forgive me. Here you are, trying to help, and I repay you with rudeness."

"You have nothing to apologise for. You and your daughter have been through a lot. I expect you to be on edge for a little while still. But you need not worry anymore. You're both safe now."

Jaskier let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. Safe. They were safe. His heart swelled at the thought and a small smile graced his lips. They had made it. He could relax.

"I can never repay you for your help, Eskel. I am forever in your debt. If you ever need anything, anything at all-" 

"Please," Eskel interrupted Jaskier's grateful rambling and raised a steadying hand as if the gesture alone was able to contain the stream of words flooding out of Jaskier's mouth. Surprisingly, it did. "Jaskier, I want nothing. I'm just glad that you and Erica are safe. Speaking of, she'll be glad to hear you're awake. Come, I'll walk you to the library."

Jaskier grabbed a slice of toast to eat on the way and followed Eskel out of the room, too eager to be reunited with his daughter to bother putting on any shoes. Jaskier could handle cold feet just fine and Eskel didn't seem to notice, thankfully, for the witcher was certain to go all mother-hen on Jaskier. The two of them walked through what seemed an endless maze of corridors and stairs to the untrained eye, yet Eskel navigated the familiar depths of Kaer Morhen with ease. Once they reached the library, or at least what Jaskier assumed to be the library, Eskel knocked on the door three times to announce his arrival. The witcher did not wait for an answer before stepping into the room. 

"Daddy!" an excited shriek met the two men as Erica got up from her spot near the fire and charged at Jaskier. He praised his quick reflexes that allowed him to catch Erica as she threw herself at him. Jaskier nuzzled his nose in her long dark mane and closed his eyes as he breathed in the smell of her. Someone had bathed her, Jaskier realised. Erica smelled vaguely of orange blossoms. 

"My darling girl, I'm so sorry I wasn't here for your first day."

"It's okay daddy. I missed you," Erica told him as she tightened her hold around his neck. She was almost choking him, but Jaskier didn't have the heart to tell her off for it. He was so overjoyed to have her back in his arms that he didn't want to let go of her ever again. 

"I'm here now, dear heart, I'm not leaving you I promise."

"Daddy?" Erica pulled away just enough to be able to look Jaskier in the eye. "Do you want to meet my new friend?" 

"Of course I do, sweetheart."

Jaskier lowered Erica to the ground and watched his daughter run towards another girl with ashen-blonde hair and the greenest eyes Jaskier had ever seen sitting by the fireplace. Cirilla, it had to be. Jaskier could not quite believe that the Cintran princess was here, at Kaer Morhen. Safe, as well. The last time Jaskier head heard of her was on one of his assignments for Dijkstra, where she was rumoured to be dead. As Jaskier stared at the young princess he could ascertain that she was definitely not dead, and apart from a highly questionable outfit and haircut, she looked the picture of health. She looked so grown up, too. Had it really been over a decade since Geral had claimed her by the law of surprise? Jaskier suddenly felt the weight of his years pressing down on his shoulders. He was getting old.

"Daddy, this is Ciri," Erica introduced the girl with a wide grin, "She's the princess you told me about!" 

"Good evening, Ciri," Jaskier greeted her warmly, earning himself a shy smile in return. 

"Good to see you on your feet, bard," Vesemir's voice suddenly spoke, startling Jaskier in the process, "you clearly needed the rest."

"I apologise for my outburst yesterday," Jaskier felt it was only right to apologise to the eldest member of the group and the obvious authority figure, "it was inappropriate. My emotions got the better of me."

"No need for that, bard. After you collapsed I got most of the story out of Geralt, and Eskel happily filled in the blanks with the details Geralt conveniently left out of his retelling. As far as I'm concerned, you did nothing wrong."

Jaskier swallowed thickly and merely nodded, not trusting his voice and therefore deciding to remain silent. Erica and Ciri returned to their game of cards - from what Jaskier could tell, the girls were playing a very popular card game called 'war'. The objective, if his memory served him right, were painstakingly simple - win all the cards from your opponent by blindly playing a higher card than the other player. A game of chance, much like real war Jaskier thought, despite what political leaders liked to claim. Tactics, strategies, playing the enemy - terms employed by those in power, those who stayed within the safety of their castles while their men and boys - no,  _ children _ , fought on the field and died.  _ Collateral damage _ , Jaskier had once heard a Lord refer to the casualties of war at a banquet he attended on Dijkstra’s orders. Those boys and men sent out to fight were seen as nothing more than  _ collateral damage _ .

Blissfully unaware of Jaskier’s internal rant, the girls seemed content enough playing their game, and so Jaskier left them to it. They were only children.

"I should probably go talk to Geralt."

"There's plenty of time for that. Just relax tonight. Geralt's been drinking with Lambert for hours, he'll be useless at this point." 

Eskel's words pulled a small chuckle from Jaskier. The witcher was right - no point in getting worked up again so soon after his panic attack earlier. Especially considering that the last confrontation with Geralt had ended with Jaskier collapsing. Instead, the bard took a seat next to Vesemir and settled for watching his daughter and Ciri play together like they had known each other for years. Jaskier had been foolish to think that Erica wouldn't adjust to life at Kaer Morhen - she was clearly having the time of her life. With a relieved sigh, he tucked his feet under him, hoping to rub some warmth into them. Vesemir noticed his lack of proper footwear, but didn't mention anything about it.

"Go join them, Eskel," Vesemir grumbled, fondness edged in the snappy tone, "I know you've been dying to get drunk with your brothers ever since you got here. And keep Lambert out of my clothes! I will not have him ruin another one of my hats."

There was a story and a half to be told there, but Jaskier knew that this was not the time for questions. There would be plenty of opportunities for drunken tales over the course of winter. Jaskier noticed Eskel's face light up at the prospect of getting drunk, and within a split second the serious and composed wolf witcher morphed into this excited pup as Eskel silently slipped out of the library. Vesemir shook his head in exasperation. 

"From one father to another," Vesemir said, shooting Jaskier a pointed look, "my pups are children stuck in adults' bodies. No matter how old they are, some things never change."

Jaskier smiled. 

"And yet I'm willing to bet that you wouldn't have them any other way."

"A safe bet indeed, bard."

__________

"Lambert, you fucking prick," Geralt cursed as Lambert used a commander's horn to double the points on his range unit, successfully securing a win. It was the third game in a row said prick had won. Lambert the fucking card shark they should start calling him. Or Lambert the cheater. The younger witcher flashed Geralt a feral grin. 

"Man, you really suck at Gwent."

"You're a cheater!" Geralt accused before taking a long sip from the moonshine Lambert had brewed himself (supposedly). Just like he had supposedly won the three rounds of Gwent fair and square. Geralt had his doubts. 

"Hey! Just because I'm better at something than the white wolf doesn't make me a cheater. It just makes you a very poor loser. What would papa Vesemir say?" Lambert teased as he pocketed the coins that had gathered on the table for the past hour and a bit. 

"Papa Vesemir says to keep you out of his clothes this time," Eskel announced loudly as he stepped into the dining hall, earning himself a pleased smile from Geralt and a rather enthusiastic holler from Lambert. In a most dramatic fashion, Eskel spread his arms wide like a hero being welcomed home after many years away. 

"Eskel! We thought you'd never make it. Also, I’m not making any promises about staying out of Vesemir's clothes," Lambert finished putting his cards away and poured Eskel a healthy amount of moonshine into a tankard. With how his year had gone, Eskel would drink the stuff out of an old boot. His brothers wouldn’t judge him for it. They weren’t the classiest bunch at Kaer Morhen. 

"Does Aiden like it when you dress up in clothes that were in fashion 200 years ago?" Geralt asked, his voice slurring ever so slightly. Eskel had some serious catching up to do if his brothers were already halfway to drunk. Without a second thought, Eskel downed his tankard and requested another one. Geralt was quick to pour. 

"What's it to you, pretty boy? Wanna join in on the fun?" 

"I'll pass," Geralt grated, pulling a chuckle from Eskel. 

"Then mind your own fucking business, O white wolf. If you're that desperate, I'm sure Eskel will fuck you," Lambert winked suggestively at Geralt, who merely levelled the younger witcher with a glare. 

"Only if he asks nicely," Eskel easily hopped onto the let's-make-fun-of-Geralt bandwagon, "if this conversation is going to work itself around a  _ please, Eskel, fuck me like there's no tomorrow _ , I might consider it."

"Oh my, oh my. Geralt, keep the moonshine coming for our dear Eskel. He's so awfully dull when he's sober, and I want to see more of drunk Eskel."

Lambert swung his feet up onto the table as he uncorked a bottle of Beauclair white - a wine that Eskel knew Lambert particularly affectioned. He was surprised that the younger witcher was willing to share his bottle with his brothers, but then he watched Lambert neck half the bottle in a couple of long swigs. There was no doubt in Eskel's mind that Lambert would be finishing that bottle by himself, leaving his brothers with the shitty home-brewed moonshine. Eskel was going to have a sore head come morning. 

"So what's the deal with that bard and his brat, anyway?" Lambert asked, not bothering to cover his mouth as he belched loudly. Ah, Lambert and his charming ways. 

"Long story," Eskel dismissed Lambert's prying hoping the younger witcher would drop the subject. Eskel had not counted on Geralt backing up Lambert, though. 

"No, seriously dude, you need to tell us." Eskel met Geralt's eyes and he could instantly tell that the white wolf was wasted. Already. And they called Eskel a lightweight. "Why're ya' travellin' with my best friend?" 

"Oh, now he's your best friend?" Eskel did not mean for his tone to sound so cold and snappy, "what about when you left him on that mountain, was he your best friend then, too?" 

"He… I's diff'rent. You don't know what happ'ned."

"I know only his version of the story, true," Eskel relented, "but only because  _ my _ best friend hasn't talked to me about shit that's been going for five years."

"Hey ladies, no bickering at the drinking table," Lambert chastised them as he chugged the remaining of his wine and finished the bottle of moonshine into Eskel and Geralt's tankards, "who gives a shit if Eskel is friends with the bard anyway? Eskel's always had shit taste in friends."

"Hey!" Geralt punched Lambert in the shoulder, to which the younger witcher retorted with a slap to Geralt's cheek. The white haired witcher stared at Lambert wide-eyed and an affronted expression on his face. It was comical, to say the least, and while Eskel would have normally stepped in he wanted to see where this little altercation would lead. "You little bitch. You slapped me!" 

"Well observed, Geralt," Lambert applauded sarcastically, "and the great white wolf dazzles us with his skills once more."

"I'll dazzle you with my fist if you don't fucking apologise right now, Lambert. Eskel, did you see that? He slapped me!" Geralt met Eskel's amused gaze, glaring at the other witcher when he realised that Eskel would not show him any sympathy. 

"Oh, I saw. And it was a glorious slap." 

“You’ve been spending too much time with that damned cat,” Geralt mumbled under his breath as he rubbed at his cheek where Lambert had slapped him mere minutes ago, “he’s teaching you to slap your own brothers. Don’t you feel any shame?”

“Not in the slightest,” Lambert admitted, a wide grin plastered on his face. Eskel smiled and took another sip of moonshine. 

It was good to be home.

__________

"Daddy, tell me a story!" Erica demanded as she and Jaskier lay in bed later that evening. As expected, his daughter had not felt comfortable sleeping in a room on her own and Vesemir had not fought her on that.  _ There are plenty of rooms in the keep. When you're ready, we'll have one made up for you _ , Vesemir had promised Erica. Ciri even requested for Erica to be given a room next to hers. The girls had clearly hit it right off. 

"What story would you like to hear, darling? Should I finish Isobel's story?" 

"No," Erica cuddled closer to Jaskier and wrapped herself around his middle, "tell me the story of how Geralt of Rivia freed you from the elves."

Who was Jaskier to refuse a request from his audience? So he did, he told the story and when he was done he instinctively started singing  _ Toss a Coin _ , and Erica joined him for the chorus. They sang like nobody could hear them, even though every witcher in the keep was probably listening to them. It didn't matter. Erica seemed happy and carefree as she sang to her heart's delight. When the song ended, both father and daughter lay quietly in bed with soft smiles on their faces. 

"Want to know a secret, dear heart?" 

"What is it, daddy?" Erica mumbled sleepily. 

"You know Geralt, the witcher you met yesterday?" Jaskier waited until Erica nodded before leaning in closer and pressing his lips to her ear. "That's Geralt of Rivia."

It took Erica several minutes seconds to process words, but once she made sense of them the girl shot up in bed and stared at Jaskier with wide eyes. She was positively vibrating with excitement. 

"He is? I need to go talk to him!" 

Erica very nearly managed to slip away from his grip, but Jaskier was quicker and tightened his hold on his daughter before she could race out of the room. 

"Not tonight, dear heart. Tomorrow you can talk to him, I promise. For now, sleep."

Erica looked ready to argue her case, but a long yawn quelled all desire to leave the bed and the safety of Jaskier's arms. His fingers carded gently through her hair and massaged her scalp, hoping the soothing gesture would send her to sleep. Despite sleeping for a whole day, Jaskier's eyelids felt heavy and he soon joined Erica into the land of dreams. 

__________

"Now darling, don't go harassing Geralt the minute you see him, understood?" Jaskier gently told his daughter as he helped her into a warm woollen dress that Eskel had bought in Ard Carraigh using the money Jaskier had given him. It was a dress that had been bought for its practicality, not for how pretty or fashionable it was. Witchers truly lacked all sense of style. 

"But daddy-" 

"Erica!" Jaskier interrupted her, placing both hands on her shoulders so he could stare into her eyes, "give the man a chance to get used to us first. Alright? All I'm saying is don't harass him."

When Erica and Jaskier made their way downstairs, she told Jaskier about her dream for the second time that morning but he listened with great intent how Erica had single handedly killed a spider in her dream without even screaming. Jaskier, for the second time that morning, praised Erica for how brave she had been in her dream. The radiant smile he got in return would never fail to warm his heart.

Jaskier let Erica guide him through the keep. He was impressed at how well his daughter had remembered the way to the dining hall. The faint sound of conversation filtering through the wooden doors left ajar told Jaskier that they were close to their destination. Erica tugged on his hand, eager to meet the others for breakfast while Jaskier tried to ignore the knot in his stomach. After all, he yet had to talk to Geralt after their disastrous first confrontation. Erica let go of his hand as soon as she stepped through the doors, running straight for where Ciri was sitting next to Geralt. After briefly greeting her new friend, Erica turned to speak to Geralt. 

"You didn't tell me that you're the white wolf!" Erica accused, her sweet face set in a disappointed frown as she stared at a frankly rough-looking Geralt. The white wolf in question let out a pained groan as one hand came to rub at his eyes and forehead. 

Ah, glorious hangover. 

"It never came up," Geralt grated in a gravelly voice.  _ Served him right _ . 

"Well, it's very easy to remember. Or do you often forget who you are?" 

Jaskier was in two minds whether to reprimand his daughter for her cheek, but seeing the baffled expression on Geralt's face as he was being lectured by a five year old girl was simply delectable. Jaskier decided to let her daughter get away with her sassy attitude this time. Erica's question was in turn met with a deep, exasperated sigh that could only belong to a father at the end of his tether. 

"I believe, dear child," said Vesemir, "that Geralt may have indeed forgotten who he is after the amount of alcohol he and his brothers had last night."

"I said I was sorry, Vesemir," Geralt groaned, levelling young Ciri with a look when the girl snorted in amusement. She was clearly enjoying Geralt being told off by Vesemir a tad too much for the white wolf’s liking. "And you, young lady, should be getting ready for training. Lambert's already waiting no doubt."

"But Geralt, I-" Ciri took one look at Geralt and decided not to bother arguing with her very grouchy guardian. A long dramatic sigh worth of Ciri's status pushed past her lips. "Fiiiine. Erica, do you want to watch me train?" 

"Train? For what?" Erica asked. 

"Lambert helps me train with a sword. Come, I'll show you! You can wait in my room while I get changed and I'll tell you all about it."

Jaskier observed Geralt closely, but the witcher seemed oblivious to his staring. In fact, Geralt seemed oblivious to a great many things as he watched his child of destiny interact with Erica. There was a softness in the amber eyes that Jaskier had never truly witnessed in the many years he and Geralt had travelled together. Jaskier knew; he knew that children had the power to change a man's entire outlook on life, and even the famed white wolf had succumbed to the bliss of fatherhood. It suited Geralt immensely.

"Can I go with Ciri, daddy?" Erica begged sweetly, her lips forming an adorable pout that Jaskier could never refuse. 

"Yes darling, after you've had some breakfast."

Erica and Ciri finished eating their food before dashing off to the older girl's room, leaving Jaskier, Geralt and Vesemir alone in the dining hall. There was a pregnant silence as soon as the girls had left. Geralt and Jaskier did their best to avoid eye contact, unwilling to make the first move. It was not until Vesemir rose to his feet and slapped both his hands loudly on the dining table that Geralt and Jaskier snapped out of their silence. 

"Listen, you two. I will not spend this winter tiptoeing around you dumbasses just because you have some unresolved issues that you refuse to address. Geralt, you owe Jaskier an apology for how you treated him, and Jaskier, I think Geralt has been punishing himself enough over the past six years without you adding salt to the wound by giving him the silent treatment. Now, either you sort this out like adults or I'll treat you like the stubborn boys that you are. Do we understand each other?"

Jaskier and Geralt both had the decency to lower their eyes and look contrite at Vesemir's schooling. The older witcher had certainly not lost his natural authority. Jaskier felt ashamed of himself, ashamed of how petty he had been when it came to the grudge he had been holding towards Geralt. At the same time, he felt like Vesemir was being unfair. Jaskier had a  _ right  _ to be upset. He had a  _ right  _ to be pissed, to yell, to insult Geralt, to feel  _ hurt  _ and  _ betrayed _ . Jaskier ventured a glance at Geralt only to see the witcher drilling holes through the table with how intently he stared at it, lips pursed, brows furrowed. Of course Geralt would not make the first step.  _ Of course  _ not. 

It all came down to Jaskier, again, to make the first step, to mend what was broken, to be cheerful when he felt like screaming. 

“For what it’s worth, Geralt,” Jaskier’s voice was tense, but he willed himself to see past his anger, “I’ve forgiven you a long time ago. I always forgive you, my dear witcher.  _ But,  _ it doesn’t justify how cruel you’ve been the last time we saw each other. Do not mistake my forgiveness for acceptance. It’ll take more than a verbal apology to make things right.”

Someone had to be the bigger man, and besides, it was great leverage against Geralt that may serve future purposes. Geralt  _ flinched _ , which gave Jaskier some satisfaction at least. The witcher cleared his throat, almost as if he was going to say something, but as was to be expected Geralt decided against it at the last minute… which was nothing short of infuriating.

“You don’t appreciate how much I’ve sacrificed for you. You don’t appreciate that when everyone else was turning their backs on you,  _ I  _ was there. I was always there for you. I took care of you after difficult hunts, I stitched your wounds, I shared my food and coin with you when contracts were scarce. I asked for nothing in return other than material for my songs, which you weren’t even bothered to provide! And yet, I stayed, because I love you like a brother.”

“I never asked you to do all this for me.”

Now  _ that  _ made Jaskier want to scream, because after all these years Geralt still thought that he didn’t deserve anyone’s love or friendship.

“I stayed because I wanted to! Because you’re my friend, because despite your poor treatment of me, I saw a good man in you. A man who had been hurt, who was turned into a pariah by society, when all I saw was a witcher with a  _ good  _ heart who set out on a journey to help people and was rewarded with hate and disdain. I stayed because I saw  _ through  _ you.” Jaskier paused to take in a deep breath. He felt his heart racing in his chest and the early onsets of panic clutching at his gut. “However, even though I’m still fucking  _ pissed _ , you’re still my friend Geralt. My best friend, in fact. You may not feel the same about me, but… I invested twenty years of my life in this friendship, and although witchers may be blessed with longevity  _ I  _ am  _ not _ . Twenty years is a long fucking time for a human to foster a friendship only to have it thrown back at your face like an used tissue.”

Geralt looked up  _ then _ , which was a step in the right direction at least. Jaskier held the witcher’s gaze easily, arms crossed before his chest, eyebrow raised. He would be taking no bullshit from Geralt. Not now, not ever again. The witcher needed to know that. 

“You’re right, Jaskier.” Well  _ that  _ was unexpected, but Jaskier was willing to take it. He waited patiently to see if Geralt would manage to string some more sentences together. His patience was rewarded seconds later. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have taken your friendship for granted. I don’t know how I can make things better between us, but I  _ want  _ to make them better. I do think of you as a friend, Jaskier.”

It was certainly a start. A good one, at that. Jaskier took pity on Geralt, who looked dangerously close to an aneurysm, and smiled indulgently. The bard extended his hand across the table, his eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“Truce?”

Geralt squeezed Jaskier’s hand, his touch lingering. Vesemir let out an approving grunt. It was not perfect by any means, but it was better than what Jaskier had expected. Geralt suddenly frowned as his eyes darted to the doors leading into the main hall. The bard knew that look; it was the look the witcher wore when something was wrong. Jaskier’s thoughts instantly went to Erica. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Geralt did not get a chance to explain when the sound of soft whimpers reached Jaskier’s ears. He bolted onto his feet and instantly made for the door, only to see someone step through them carrying a visibly upset Erica in his strong arms. Jaskier had not met this witcher yet, but Erica seemed content letting the man hold her close and whisper soft reassurances into her ear. As soon as she saw Jaskier, she reached out for him and whimpered a heartbreaking ‘daddy’ under her breath. Jaskier then noticed her scraped knees. 

“Dear heart, what happened to you?”

“I fell,” Erica explained miserably as she hid her face in the crook of Jaskier’s neck. Ciri was standing behind the unknown witcher, looking up at Erica with a pained expression on her features. Jaskier thought he saw Ciri reach out for the weeping girl in his arms, but reconsidered her actions when Erica’s cries died down to soft sniffles. 

“Heard some commotion outside my bedroom and found this little miss on the floor. Just a scratch, nothing more. More fear than harm, I wager. Name’s Aiden,” the witcher flashed a dazzling white smile at Jaskier, “nice to see some new faces. I would’ve come down sooner, but-” Aiden gestured vaguely at his left side and leg. Jaskier noticed the witcher was careful not to put any weight on it.

“Alright, where the fuck is the little minx, she’s late for her -  _ Aiden _ , what are you doing out of bed?” 

Lambert had burst through another door that Jaskier had failed to notice the first time. Aiden, his grin only growing at the sight of Lambert, did not seem in the least perturbed being so brashly spoken to. 

“Relax, kitten. I can’t stay in bed forever.”

“You still haven’t healed properly, you ass. Back to bed, chop, chop! Where the fuck’s Eskel, anyway? He hasn’t showed up to training either.”

Aiden rolled his eyes, but to Jaskier’s surprise, the witcher hobbled out of the dining hall with Lambert in tow. Jaskier was quick to cover Erica’s mouth with his hand to stop her from commenting on Lambert’s liberal use of swear words. Although it was entertaining the first time, the bard did not want to test the prickly witcher’s patience. Geralt snorted at the question of Eskel’s whereabouts, which told Jaskier that he knew  _ exactly  _ where the other witcher ended up after their bender the night before. 

“Last time I saw him he was heading to the stables. Check there. Or the chicken coop. Or follow the goats, they’ll lead you to him no doubt.”

Lambert groaned. 

“Fucking lightweight. Ciri, go find Eskel while I get Aiden back upstairs,” Lambert ordered, ignoring Aiden’s affronted scoff of  _ I can make my way upstairs without your help, thank you very much _ . Lambert did not heed the other witcher’s grumbling as he shoved him gently towards the stairs. Aiden  _ hissed _ , which was nothing short of hilarious to watch, but Lambert was clearly used to that kind of reaction and merely shooed Aiden upstairs. 

“That’s at least three coins he needs to add to the swear jar, daddy,” Erica announced once Jaskier removed his hand from her mouth. The bard sighed. 

This winter promised to be interesting. 

__________

They found Eskel in the chicken coop, passed out and snoring. Jaskier promised to never let the witcher live that down. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will show a bit more interaction between Ciri and Erica. Also the next chapter is my favourite chapter so far, so I'm super excited to post it next week! 
> 
> Thanks for reading and your support, I hope you're all looking forward to the next installment.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post this yesterday, but my WiFi was down since Sunday (which is just great when most of my uni is online and I have assessments due, and oh yeah, the library has limited capacity because of Covid.... Anyway).
> 
> I am IN LOVE with this chapter you guys. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> Thanks for all the support - you guys keep this story and my muse alive!

Erica and Jaskier adjusted surprisingly well to life at Kaer Morhen. 

The first week went by in a flash, it seemed. After confronting Geralt a second time, Jaskier felt miles better about his presence at the keep. Geralt was making a conscious effort to be softer around Jaskier, kinder even. It was Geralt who helped Jaskier and Erica settle at Kaer Morhen, him who helped get rugs and tapestries up to Jaskier's room to keep the place warm during the cold winter nights. It was also Geralt who secured a spare bed from an unoccupied room and brought it to Ciri's room after the girls had voiced their wish to sleep in the same room. Jaskier did not even have to ask Geralt for his help; it was almost like the white wolf wanted Erica and Jaskier to be comfortable at the keep. Jaskier appreciated Geralt's efforts - to him, it showed that the witcher at least gave a monkey's about him. After twenty years… better late than never, as Granny Pankratz would say. Then again, Granny Pankratz also never placed two mirrors opposite each other ('that'll open a portal to hell, Julian') and she refused to go straight home after funerals ('if I go home straight away, evil spirits might follow me inside, Julian. Stupid boy!'). 

Come to think of it, Jaskier was not entirely sure how trustworthy Granny Pankratz' wisdoms were. 

Jaskier and Erica were expected to pull their own weight around the keep. Jaskier didn't mind,l and he thought it would do his daughter good to take part in some chores and be given responsibility for certain tasks. Erica and Ciri were in charge of feeding the smaller animals - a dozen chickens, a group of goats and, to Vesemir’s dismay and the other witcher's hilarity, a family of rats living in the stables. Erica took her animal caring duties very seriously and always left some cheese out for the rats. Nobody got left behind. The girls also took turns clearing out the table at breakfast and dinner. Jaskier learned that Vesemir insisted they all sat down for a meal together at least once every day, usually in the evening. Lunch was a hasty affair most of the time and breakfast heavily dependent on how busy the witchers' schedules were. Dinner, on the other hand, was sacred. Jaskier easily related - it was probably the only time of day Vesemir got to see his pups, his  _ sons _ , all together and relaxed. A mismatched family, but the only family Vesemir had left and he clung onto that familial feel with all his might. 

Jaskier, too, had been given his own set of chores. He had relabelled every jar in the kitchen, replacing the ‘squiggly chicken scratches’ (Vesemir’s words, which he had spoken while shooting a pointed look at Lambert) with his own, much neater handwriting. Vesemir had been so pleased with the result that he had asked Jaskier to relabel every single jar in the keep. The bard did not really mind - he found the activity quite relaxing. It was impressive just how much Vesemir stored in those jars and how many jars there were. Jaskier thought it might take him a good two weeks to get his chore done, but Vesemir had other plans for him. Jaskier was asked to tidy up the library with Eskel - and truly, the bard could simply not bring himself to refer to this activity as a ‘chore’. As he headed down to the library that morning with Erica in tow, Jaskier found himself looking forward to some alone(ish) time with the witcher. And judging by the way Erica burst into the library and charged at Eskel, who barely managed to catch her mid-flight, so was she. 

How could she not be? Eskel was a delight to be around. 

“Woah, hello to you too, little one,” Eskel greeted the giggling girl in his arms. Erica wrapped her skinny arms around his neck and placed a wet kiss to his cheek. 

“Hi, Eskel! I’m gonna help you and daddy today!” Erica announced, her childlike enthusiasm infectious as both Jaskier and Eskel smiled fondly at her reaction. 

“We could definitely use the help. It’s a big library.”

Erica wiggled in Eskel’s arms, and sensing her fidgeting, the witcher lowered her to the ground and let the girl skip across the room to a tall pile of books in the corner near the window. Jaskier felt a shiver course through him at the chilliness in the room. Eskel caught on quickly and cast an igni to light the fire in the hearth. The witcher’s efforts were rewarded with a grateful smile. 

“Thank you. You witchers might not feel the cold the same way as we mere mortals do, but I thought that after six years of living with the young princess you would’ve had fires roaring in every room for her sake.”

Eskel, for the lack of a better word, looked  _ bashful _ . It was endearing, really. 

“We tend to forget, it’s true. It’s been a while since there were any human children in the keep. We’re all out of practice, even Vesemir. Doesn’t help that Ciri is a girl, and while the old man knows exactly how to keep young boys in check…”

Eskel left the rest of his sentence hanging in the air, but Jaskier understood. Taking care of a prepubescent girl after spending most of his life raising young boys must have been a life-altering experience for the old witcher.  _ You can’t teach an old dog new tricks _ \- another one of Granny Pankratz’ wise sayings. She probably had a point with this one. 

“Ciri seems well-adjusted from what I’ve seen. Don’t worry so much. Everyone I’ve met so far seems to have her best intentions at heart.” Jaskier noticed the tip of Eskel’s ears flush red as a hand came up to rub at his scars. He could not contain his curiosity any longer. “You do that a lot, you know? Rub your scars when a conversation makes you uncomfortable.”

Eskel did not respond, but he made a conscious effort to keep his hand by his side. Jaskier hoped he had not overstepped his boundaries - he liked how easy it was to talk to Eskel, how effortlessly the witcher fit into his and Erica's daily routine. The last thing he wanted was to push Eskel away. Jaskier seemed to have a knack for doing just that. 

“It’s not that I’m uncomfortable. Not exactly. I just - I’m not used to people complimenting me.  _ Any  _ aspect about me.” Eskel’s fingers twitched at his side, but he did not give into the urge to cover up his scarred face this time.

_ Ah. _

Eskel was not nervous. He was  _ self-conscious _ . 

Jaskier felt his heart melt in his chest. 

“Damn shame,” the bard said softly, “there are so many things to praise about you.”

The loud noise of books toppling over followed by a high-pitched squeak interrupted the moment, and both men snapped their attention to Erica. The girl stared at the books scattered across the floor before her eyes met Eskel’s and Jaskier’s gazes. Erica blushed and looked about as guilty as one would expect. In a small voice, the girl apologised:

“I’m sorry. I saw a fairytale book and wanted to read it.”

Jaskier sighed in relief when he realised that Erica wasn’t hurt, and just as he was about to tell his daughter to be more careful the next time Eskel stepped up and crouched before her so the two were at eye-level. Jaskier noticed the witcher pick up the book in question -  _ A Collection of Fairytales from across the Continent, by Adele Mercier _ \- which Eskel handed to Erica with a small smile on his lips. 

“Take it. It’s yours.”

Oh, and if Jaskier’s heart didn’t nearly soar from his chest at the sight. Erica carefully accepted the gift, almost as if she worried that Eskel would snatch it away from her at the last minute. The girl stared at the elaborate binding made of rich red leather which featured the title of the book in golden scripture. Erica clutched the book to her chest and flashed Eskel a dazzling smile. 

“Thank you, Eskel. Daddy, look what I got!”

Jaskier mouthed a soft ‘thank you’ at Eskel once Erica was distracted by the colourful drawings in the book. Eskel nodded once.  _ Don’t mention it _ . Silently, both men got to work and began sorting through the many books of Kaer Morhen library. An ocean of knowledge was preserved within these walls, knowledge that some of Jaskier’s professors would  _ kill  _ to get their hands on. Other than the many bestiaries, alchemical and magical grimoires and other historical and philosophical treatises, the keep’s library also featured fiction novels (some of the raunchy kind, which really should not have come as a surprise to Jaskier) and many, many ledgers. More ledgers than Jaskier had ever seen. If anything, witchers liked to keep a record. Jaskier flicked through some of them, but admittedly he could not make sense of the names and dates scribbled in dark ink. He decided to investigate this some other time. To Jaskier’s delight, the library was also home to poetic treatises, compendia and collections of essays on poetic devices and methods. He marvelled at each and every one of them - some of the poems Jaskier had never heard of, and he was getting excited at the prospect of reading and analysing them. 

“I am amazed, dear witcher,” Jaskier exclaimed when they decided to call it a day, “at how much knowledge is in this library. Here I naively thought that the only books witchers cared about were bestiaries.”

“A common misconception,” Eskel admitted, but far from sounding offended the witcher sounded amused, “some witchers read more than others. The only books Lambert will go near are the raunchy novellas, and even then he’ll only read the good bits. Geralt reads sometimes, when the fancy takes him. He can’t stay focused for long enough, gets distracted easily.”

“Do you like to read?” Jaskier asked innocently enough, but the question seemed to take Eskel by surprise. Right, not used to other people being kind to him. Jaskier made it his priority to prove to Eskel that he did not have to hide anything about himself around the bard. 

“I do. It distracts me from my thoughts. It also passes the time when I can’t sleep… which is every night, almost. Vesemir always says I have the sleeping pattern of a newborn babe.”

Jaskier laughed at that comment, a reaction that earned him a pleased smile from Eskel. 

“Well, Eskel, I wouldn’t mind some recommendations. As you can guess, I left most of my belongings back in Novigrad including my books. I sold my lute for coin to last Erica and me while on the run. I am positively  _ bored  _ in the evenings. Please, what do  _ you  _ suggest I read.”

Eskel pondered the question earnestly, his eyes scanning the room for inspiration. Jaskier waited patiently, his eyes occasionally darting to Erica who was busy leafing through books and looking at pictures of horrible monsters. 

“I have a collection of Elven poetry in my room, given to me as payment for fulfilling a contract for an elderly couple in Redania. As a poet, you will appreciate them more than I ever could.”

“Original Elder Speech, or translated?”

“Original, of course. An educated man like yourself would surely have my head for even daring to suggest that you read a poorly rendered translation of those poems,” Eskel vowed, a teasing grin tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“Oh- _ ho _ . You, my dear Eskel, know the way to a man’s heart. And also how to stroke my ego, I might add, which is a very useful skill to have indeed.”

Jaskier decided not to linger on the warm feeling in his chest as Eskel’s warm laughter filled the room. 

__________

Eskel helped Geralt make dinner after spending what felt like hours tidying up the library. He found the task incredibly tedious and boring, and the only reason he agreed to do it and wasn't dragging his feet in the process was because he got to spend more time with Jaskier. The bard and his daughter were the breath of fresh air the stuffy keep needed. Kaer Morhen used to be home to many young boys, the school of the wolf always recruiting new candidates to train. The keep had, once upon a time in a not so distant past come to think of it, been filled with the sound of eager future witchers. Boys could be boisterous, and not a single night went by without at least one instructor interrupting a midnight brawl or catching boys sneaking Everluce out of Rennes' precious cellar into their dorms. 

Once upon a time, there was life in Kaer Morhen. Now the walls felt more like a prison of the mind in which Eskel was permanently reminded of the many lives they had lost, young lives,  _ innocent _ lives. Every day, the remaining wolf witchers were reminded of their failure. Eskel should've been there when the fanatics attacked. He knew Geralt blamed himself for his absence, too. They could have made a difference. They could have saved some of the boys, at least. Lambert still had nightmares about the attack and occasionally relived the deaths and destruction all over again. Vesemir dreamed of the boys, the pups he couldn't save. 

Ciri, Jaskier and Erica's presence at the keep were like the first rays of sunshine in spring announcing the rebirth of nature and life. Their presence gave Eskel hope, but while Ciri was very much Geralt's responsibility, Jaskier and Erica had, in a way, become Eskel's. It felt good to be needed, to be useful to someone. 

"You know if Aiden will be joining us for dinner?" Geralt suddenly asked, pulling Eskel out of his thoughts. The latter merely shrugged in response. 

"Dunno. Does it matter?" 

"It's the least of courtesies to let me know if he'll join. I need to know many to cook for," Geralt grumbled under his breath as he hacked the head off the ducks they had caught near the lake earlier that week. Eskel raised an eyebrow at his brother. 

"If there's enough for seven of us, there's enough for eight. What's the  _ real _ reason for your grouchiness this time?" 

There was something on Geralt's mind, Eskel could tell. He could always tell. Geralt wouldn't usually complain about someone not joining them for dinner, especially if said someone was recovering from a near fatal injury even for a witcher. 

Geralt slapped the knife onto the counter and glared at Eskel. 

"What the fuck's your deal with Jaskier?" 

Now that was unexpected, but fortunately for everyone Eskel was well versed in the art of handling Geralt's temper tantrums. 

"We're clearing out the library."

"You hate tidying the library. Always have! So why are you suddenly so eager to do it?" 

"Geralt, Jaskier and I are fr-" 

"Yeah, I get it," Geralt looked away from Eskel, eyes pinched shut and sharp teeth worrying his pink lips, "he's your new best friend. He'll get bored eventually. You're new and shiny, so he plays with you now, but he'll soon-" 

"Geralt," Eskel interrupted before the other witcher could finish his thought, "breathe."

"Fuck you! I know I'm not the best person to be friends with, alright? I know I'm difficult to be around. Doesn't mean you have to fucking replace me."

"Replace you?" There was no reproach in Eskel's voice - never when Geralt was involved. Eskel knew his best friend by heart. Geralt's insecurities acted up whenever he felt out of his depth, and Jaskier's presence in the keep was as nerve wrecking for Geralt as it was soothing for Eskel. The dark-haired witcher stepped closer to his friend and rested his hands on both of Geralt's shoulders, their firm grip keeping Geralt in place as the white wolf fought against Eskel's touch. Eskel leaned in closer until their foreheads touched and stayed there, his breath even while Geralt's heart raced in his chest. 

"Five things you can see," Eskel prompted his eyes closed and his forehead pressed reassuringly against Geralt's. The other witcher scoffed. 

"I'm not having a panic attack, Eskel!" 

"No, but it'll distract you from your self-loathing for a while. Five things you can see."

Geralt paused, leaning into Eskel's touch to the older witcher's delight. Amber eyes scanned the room as Geralt willed his breathing to match Eskel's. 

"Knife. Chopping board. You. Medallion. Hearth."

"Four you can feel."

They went through the whole grounding process until Geralt heaved a long sigh and leaned in for a hug. Strong arms snaked around Eskel's waist and pulled him close as Geralt nuzzled the other witcher's neck. It was rare for Geralt to indulge in public displays of affection. Eskel was probably the only one the white wolf felt safe enough around to allow himself to be vulnerable from time to time. As kids, Eskel had always been Geralt's rock. The sensitive young boy didn't adjust quickly to his new life as a witcher trainee. Eskel, on the other hand, had always been more adaptable than most. They stood there for a while, taking comfort in each other's embrace, basking in the other's scent like they did when they were young boys. There was nothing romantic or sexual about their relationship, and contrary to Lambert's convictions, never had there been. Eskel had always seen Geralt as a brother, and vice versa. There were some lines both would never dare cross with each other. But this? This felt right. Geralt needed this occasionally. 

After a while, Geralt pulled away. 

"Geralt, I could never replace you. You're my best friend, my brother. Our friendship is worth all the riches in the Continent. I wouldn't trade it for anything."

"Oh, you sap!" Geralt teased, but Eskel knew the words went straight to the white wolf's heart. He needed reassurance from time to time, reassurance that Eskel wouldn't abandon him like Visenna did. Like so many others after her did. 

"You know it! Wouldn't have me any other way, old man!" 

"Hey! Less of the old. You're 98! I'm a spring chicken next to you."

Eskel snorted at that. 

"Yeah right. You're 96. Don't flatter yourself."

"You'll still turn 100 before me,  _ old man _ . Maybe we should start calling you grandpa Eskel." 

That comment earned Geralt a handful of potato peel to the face. When Vesemir stepped into the kitchen a few minutes later, he had to separate the squabbling pups or risk ruining their supper. The commotion attracted spectators in the form of Lambert, Aiden and Ciri egging the two witchers on. Meanwhile, Vesemir threatened both his pups that he would make them run the walls if they couldn't play nice. 

"You're both almost 100! Fucking behave like it, won't you? You're supposed to lead by example!" 

There was truly no place like home. 

__________

Eskel couldn't sleep. It wasn't an unusual occurrence, but a frustrating one nonetheless. There was no apparent reason for the witcher's restlessness - his body was still alert, still used to the frantic pace of the Path which would not allow Eskel to sleep for longer than a couple of hours at the time. It was a survival instinct. Sleeping for too long out in the open got you killed. Coming back to Kaer Morhen for the winter allowed every witcher to catch up on the sleep they denied themselves the rest of the year, but it always took Eskel's mind and body days, if not weeks, to accept that he was safe within the keep's walls. 

Until then, Eskel would content himself with several hours of sleep at a time and meditate the rest. If his body did not adapt to the slower rhythm of winter soon, he would ask Vesemir for one of his potions. While Eskel lay in bed pondering whether to brave the cold walk to the library he tuned into the noises around him. Everyone preferred to sleep on the same floor during winter, save Vesemir who had never left the room he had occupied as a teacher in Kaer Morhen's glory days. Eskel's keen hearing was therefore able to pick up Geralt's even breathing from three rooms away, Lambert and Aiden's soft groans of pleasure (too quiet for any mortal to hear and on this occasion Eskel cursed his superhuman hearing). He could also hear Jaskier's soft snoring and, more surprisingly, soft whispers coming from Ciri and Erica's room. 

Eskel did not mean to pry or eavesdrop, he really didn't, but between tuning out his brother's passionate groans and the pups' conversation… well, he knew which one he would least like to listen to. 

_ "Ciri? Ciri, are you awake?"  _

_ "Yes, I'm awake. Are you okay? You're not scared, are you?"  _

Ciri's voice was not teasing, as Eskel might have expected, but edged with genuine concern for her new friend. It was good to see how well the two girls had taken to each other. Eskel could tell that it was a massive weight off Jaskier's chest to see Erica adapt so well to the life at the keep, away from everything the girl knew and trusted. 

_ "I had a nightmare,"  _ Erica admitted. Eskel felt his heart tighten in his chest and decided to get out of bed just in case he had to wake Jaskier up to comfort his daughter. As Eskel quietly left his room and padded down the hall towards the girls 'room he picked up more of their hushed conversation. 

_ "What was it about?"  _

_ "It was Diksta. He's a bad man who wants to hurt daddy. We were running away from him." _

Eskel hated how much Dijkstra scared the young girl. Even though Eskel had never met the man, he had heard of him in passing. Dijkstr's reputation preceded him. Leader of an elaborate circle of spies, Eskel did his best to steer as far away as he could from Dijkstra and his minions. The witcher refused to get involved in politics since Deirdre. Spies were a big no-no in that regard. 

_ "He won't get you here. We will protect you.  _ I  _ will protect you, too. They trained me well, I can take care of you."  _

There was a pause during which Eskel heard the girls shuffle in their respective beds. Then, in a much quieter voice, Ciri spoke again:

_ "I'm running away from someone, too. A man with a feathered helmet. From Nilfgaard." _

_ "Nilfgaard? My daddy went there once. When he was still working for Diksta." _

Eskel waited, careful not to betray his presence. His eyes darted briefly to the door opposite the girls' room where Jaskier was still snoring softly. The witcher decided against waking the bard yet, at least until Erica was genuinely upset. 

_ "Yeah. Nilfgaardians invaded my home, in Cintra. My grandmama told me to run away and find Geralt of Rivia. I'm lucky I did." _

_ "What about your mummy and daddy? Why are they not with you?"  _

Another pause. Longer this time. 

_ "My parents died when I was young. My grandmama raised me. She was Calanthe, the Queen and Lioness of Cintra. That makes me the Lion cub of Cintra. But-,"  _ Ciri's tone took a more serious edge,  _ "you can't tell anyone, okay? It's a secret. Or they'll find me, and take me. And maybe hurt everyone who helped me." _

It was tragic, really, that a girl as young as Ciri felt the burden of her own life and that of others' so intensely. Eskel hated it. Most boys when they had first arrived at Kaer Morhen had been expected to grow up quickly. They had never had a chance at a childhood. With Ciri, they all wanted it to be different, but despite all their efforts they could not take away the traumatic memory of seeing your family and most of your own people being massacred by Nilfgaardian soldiers. 

Eskel heard more shuffling, followed by the loud pitter patter of feet hitting the cold ground as Erica ran across the room, then more shuffling. Eskel deduced that the young girl had climbed into bed with Ciri. 

_ "My mummy died when I was a baby. I never knew her. Sometimes I'm sad that I don't have a mummy, and daddy tells me that mummy would want me to be happy. So don't be sad, Ciri. Your mummy and daddy wouldn't like that very much." _

In the words of a great bard Eskel could not recall the name of, though she be but little she is fierce. Jaskier was doing a great job raising a kind and wise young girl. He must be tremendously proud of her. 

_ "I think you're right," _ Ciri agreed after a while,  _ "I won't be sad if you stop worrying about that man hurting you and your daddy. Deal?"  _

_ "Deal. But… Can I stay in your bed tonight?"  _

_ "Sure." _

The soft sound of footsteps caught Eskel's attention and when his eyes looked up they landed on Vesemir wrapped in his woollen housecoat. Under any other circumstances Eskel would've teased the old man for turning into an older version of Lambert, but his heart was too heavy after the conversation he overheard. Vesemir motioned for Eskel to follow him and both men headed to the library. Only once inside did Vesemir speak. 

"I could hear you were awake and moving around," Vesemir offered as an explanation as he took a seat in his favourite padded reading chair. Eskel cast a quick igni which lit up the fireplace and sat down next to Vesemir. "I couldn't sleep either so I thought we might enjoy each other's company."

"Always up for a midnight chat, old wolf." Eskel stared absent-mindedly into the fire for a while as he gathered his thoughts. "Ciri and Erica are getting on well. I'm glad."

"So am I. The princess' behaviour has greatly improved since Erica and Jaskier arrived. She easily slipped into that older sibling role. The more Ciri grows up, the more she's acting like a wolf alright."

"Geralt used to pick up strays at that age too. I'll always remember him being the older brother figure young boys looked up to when they first arrived at Kaer Morhen," Eskel recalled fondly. Vesemir pondered his words for a moment, the shadow of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

"Geralt was the annoying brother who told those boys what to do.  _ You  _ on the other hand… you were the big brother those boys looked up to. They respected Geralt, but they loved you."

Eskel did not know what to say, so he remained silent. He looked anywhere but at Vesemir, but managed to keep his hand on his lap although he was itching to rub at his scars.  _ You do that a lot, you know? Rub your scars when a conversation makes you uncomfortable _ … when had he become so easy to read? 

"What's on your mind then, pup? And don't give me that crap about your body adjusting to being away from the path. I know you."

Eskel worried the unscarred side of his lip with a sharp canine until he felt the coppery taste of blood on his tongue. It was as good a distraction as any. 

"I'm not sure," Eskel admitted, and he wasn't lying. He didn't know what was up other than feeling a malaise since coming back for winter. 

"You're a smart lad, try harder," Vesemir pushed, which was unlike the older witcher. Clearly he had been worrying about Eskel for a while. The thought was oddly comforting. 

"It's been a difficult year. The war is bad for business. People are wary of strangers, which means they're doubly wary of witchers. I had to turn down contracts because of people wishing to hire me to do their dirty work. Murder, kidnapping, intimidation. Mind you, I could've made a fortune."

Vesemir waited for Eskel to elaborate, ever the patient teacher and father figure. Eskel was grateful for the time Vesemir gave him to gather his thoughts. 

"The world is changing, Vesemir. There's fewer and fewer contracts. I mean, Lambert, Geralt and the Cat we all agree to stay out of each other's ways on the Path so we don't have to compete for resources. That's an agreement between us, but other witchers? They don't show us the same courtesy, understandable as that may be. Soon, there won't be enough monsters left for us to survive on that guild only. I… what then? What will become of us?"

"Hm… anything else?" Vesemir asked, knowing damn well that Eskel was holding back more. While he was at it Eskel might as well offload everything. 

"Geralt has Ciri. Lambert has Aiden. And us old sods? What's there left for us if we can't do what we do best?" 

Vesemir was silent for a while, reflecting, pondering. Eskel could not resist the urge any longer and pawed at his scars. The familiar feeling of raised skin under his fingertips calmed him down, but the witcher's mind was still racing. Eskel took a deep breath and identified five things he could see… 

"Geralt and Lambert will be just as distraught and confused as you when the time comes. I might be gone by then, but those two chuckleheads will need someone to keep them grounded."

"Please, spare me old wolf," Eskel huffed, "Don't tell me that we can all retire like a happy family and live the rest of our days like farmers in this dusty keep or anywhere else, and that they'll name a country after us to thank us for our many centuries of service."

"You're feeling some pressure," Vesemir pointed out accurately and it infuriated Eskel how well the old wolf knew him. 

"They expect me to know exactly what to do at any time. Calm, rational Eskel who always overthinks every decision he ever makes. What if I don't have the answers when the time comes?" 

Thoughts still racing, Eskel focused on four things he could touch… 

"If you don't have the answers, you take a deep breath and you adapt. Most important attribute of witchers… Adaptability. Have you forgotten already?" 

Three he could hear…

"What if I break under the pressure? What then? If you're gone, who'll be there for me?" 

Two he could smell… 

"None of that, pup. I know you. I've known you nearly all your life. You've never backed down from a challenge your whole life. Now I could lie to you and tell you it's gonna be easy-" 

"You really should," Eskel interrupted Vesemir once he got his racing thoughts under control, the taste of blood still lingering on his tongue, "I'm vulnerable, I'll believe you."

"But you and I both know that this is something you'll do even if it scares you shitless. Because you've always been fiercely loyal to the people you care about, and you'd hate yourself if you left Geralt and Lambert to deal with their problems on their own."

Vesemir leaned over the armrest of his chair and reached out to place a warm hand on Eskel's twitching arm, effectively stopping him from rubbing at his scars again. 

"Eskel, this family needs a leader. And I can't do it forever.  _ You  _ can handle it."

Eskel stared at Vesemir's hand and heaved a nervous sigh. 

"Do I have to?" he asked, his voice small and insecure. Vesemir squeezed his arm gently in a rare display of fatherly affection that never failed to warm Eskel's heart. 

"Heavy hangs the head, my son."

__________

When Jaskier checked on Erica the next morning, he found his daughter cuddled up to Ciri's sleeping form. Both girls looked so peaceful and content that Jaskier didn't have the heart to wake them yet. Instead, he gently shut the door behind him and let them sleep a little while longer. 

The chores could wait. Besides, Eskel still owed him a book of Elven poetry. 

__________

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we'll see more of Aiden. I have so many headcanons for that man and I can't wait to share them all with you guys....


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would've posted this chapter earlier, but with all the deadlines I didn't get to proof read it until today. But here you go!
> 
> As ever, thank you for the continuous support ❤️

**Chapter 6**

Aiden hurt himself some days later during training when he attempted to dodge Lambert’s strike by performing complicated acrobatics, only to lose balance and fall flat on his side. He landed on the ground with such force that his body skidded along the rough surface for several paces, tearing out his stitches in the process. Lambert was on him instantly, his brows creased in a worried frown as he took in the damage. Only when Aiden cracked a joke and grinned devilishly did Lambert's concern turn into an angry rant about how Aiden had no sense of preservation and would get himself killed through sheer stupidity one of these days. Ensued an explosive row between the two witchers, which ended with Lambert dragging Aiden upstairs by the scruff of his neck to clean the wound and restitch it. Geralt, Eskel and Vesemir didn't seem worried in the slightest as they resumed their training as if Lambert and Aiden hadn't just left in a shouting fit. Clearly the wolf witchers were used to arguments between Lambert and Aiden. 

After that incident, Lambert forbade Aiden to go back to training until the wound was fully healed. Jaskier was confident that Lambert had used highly persuasive arguments (probably involving sexual activities… or lack thereof), for one morning when Jaskier helped Erica feed the chickens the Cat witcher appeared wrapped in a thick leather jacket and woollen breeches. 

"Mind if I join you?" he asked politely, despite his signature lopsided smile plastered on his chiselled face, "I'm going stir-crazy doing nothing all day long."

"Of course, the more the merrier," Jaskier agreed cheerily, followed by Erica delighted squeal of excitement. "I'm only here to get a change of scenery. Erica is the head of operations here. What do you need us to do, dear heart?" 

Erica's eyes darted between the goat pen and the chicken coop as she tried to decide who to take care of first. Jaskier could have easily taken the lead, but Erica seemed so at ease with the animals at Kaer Morhen that Jaskier happily let her direct them. Eventually, the girl said:

"First we need to feed Bleater. If we don't feed her first she gets grumpy." Erica marched towards the goat pen and was greeted by loud bleating. Lil'Bleater, Eskel's goat supposedly though Jaskier still had to get  _ that  _ story out of his friend, headbutted her wooden enclosure impatiently as she saw Erica approach. 

"None of that, little missy," Erica reprimanded with both fists on her hips and looking the mirror image of Jaskier when he gave his daughter into trouble, "remember your manners!" 

"You have a firm hand, little fox," Aiden praised the girl, unable to disguise his amusement at the scene. Erica glanced at him over her shoulder and nodded solemnly. 

"She's spoilt. She needs to learn patience."

Jaskier and Aiden both chuckled at Erica's words as they allowed the girl to handle the situation on her own; she clearly had everything under control. Jaskier could not help the flash of panic coursing through him when he saw Erica open the door latch and step inside the pen with a clearly over enthusiastic goat that could seriously injure Erica with those sharp horns. 

"Be careful, dear heart, don't-" 

"I got this, daddy," Erica reassured Jaskier as she petted the goat's head, "She won't hurt me."

As it turned out, Erica truly had a gift. Navigating the goat pen and the chicken coop came as naturally as breathing to the little girl, who was very careful not to inadvertently kick or step on any of the chickens in the way. She didn't need Jaskier or Aiden's help at all, but was happy explaining her process to the two men as she worked. When the goat and chickens were tended to, Erica turned to face Jaskier and Aiden. 

"And we can't forget the rats in the stables!" 

"Pardon?" Aiden frowned at the girls' words, "you feed the rats?" 

"Yes. They need to eat, too," Erica told the Cat witcher matter-of-factly like it was the most obvious statement in the world and Aiden was a bit slow to catch on. Not waiting for him to answer, the girl fished four cheese cubes out of her pocket and skipped to the stables. Aiden looked at Jaskier with wide eyes. 

"Rats?" 

"She takes her duties very seriously," Jaskier told the witcher with a shrug. Aiden merely laughed in response. 

"That she does."

Both men followed Erica into the stables and they noticed the cheese squares sitting in the corner nearest to the door. The rats would probably be spooked by the presence of two other humans near their territory, so Jaskier expected the cheese to lay untouched until they had all. Only then did Jaskier notice Erica staring longingly at the horses in the stalls. 

"Dear heart? Everything okay?" 

Erica tilted her head up and looked at her father pleadingly. 

"Vesemir says I'm too little to take care of the horses, but they need looking after too, daddy."

Jaskier smiled fondly as he prayed to the gods that Erica would never lose her sweetness growing up. She had a big heart, just like her daddy, but Jaskier also knew that people with big hearts got hurt more often. He willed those thoughts away as he crouched before Erica. 

"The horses are being looked after, sweetheart. The others take very good care of them. But I can help you take care of Pegasus today, what do you say?" 

Erica's eyes lit up at the prospect. 

"Yes please, daddy!" 

"We can also take care of my horse Aslan and Lambert's horse," Aiden suggested before Jaskier got another word in, "He won't mind."

And so, they all set to work. The three of them lead Pegasus out of his stall into the courtyard, where they tied the gelding to a post and began brushing the dust and dirt out of the coarse hair. Erica was nothing if thorough, making sure to scrub until no dust rose from the horse's body. She then moved onto the hooves, with Aiden helping to keep Pegasus' foot up so Erica could work on removing the built up dirt that had gathered in the sole. She was gentle, not wanting to hurt the horse in the process. Erica then spent some time untangling the horse's tail and mane, weaving in a few braids for good measure. 

"Pegasus loves his braids," Erica told the two men, a statement neither challenged nor questioned. 

"Fair enough. You know, Lambert's horse would  _ love  _ braids! We could even weave in some flowers, what do you say?"

Jaskier shot Aiden a suspicious look and noticed the mischievous glint in the witcher's eyes.  _ Oh _ . So that was Aiden's payback then. Jaskier could not wait to see the prickly wolf's reaction to his manly stallion sporting cute little braids. Erica, on the other hand, seemed to love the idea and remained oblivious to the witcher's scheme. 

"Now, little fox, let us take Pegasus back and inside and take care of Lambert's horse. We need to give him a name, Lambert never did. What do you think?" 

"What does Lambert like?" Erica asked innocently enough, and Aiden's grin grew impossibly wider. 

"Oh, he's truly not fussy. You pick a name, little fox, the first thing that comes to mind when you see Lambert's horse."

Said horse was a Hackney of rare beauty, its coat a light golden brown with a white star on its forehead. The horse was lean, but not underfed by any means - Lambert clearly did look after his mount when he was on the Path. After a good brush down, the coat would look shiny and silky once again. When the Hackney saw Aiden approach it let out an unimpressed snort. 

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Aiden patted the horse's nose firmly, "I don't like early mornings either."

"Fudge! His name will be Fudge!" Erica announced, immensely pleased with herself. She stepped closer to the stall and waved at the horse, who merely eyes her suspiciously. "Hi, Fudge."

Aiden barked out a loud laugh. 

"Fudge it is! Little fox, Lambert will love that name."

__________

After spending the next couple of hours grooming Fudge and Aslan (and weaving some dandelions into both horses’ manes, naturally), Erica's stomach growled loudly which was Jaskier's cue to take her inside and whip up some lunch for her. Aiden decided to tag along, to Erica's delight - she had taken kindly to the Cat witcher. Erica insisted to hold Aiden's hand on the way into the keep. Jaskier found his daughter's ability to melt even the toughest of witcher hearts endearing. Aiden, unlike the others, seemed very much at ease around the little girl. Whereas Eskel always looked like he feared he would break Erica and Lambert did his best to avoid her, Aiden welcomed her innocent affection. It made Jaskier feel curious and wanting to find out more about the Cat witcher, whom everyone at Kaer Morhen apart from Lambert seemed to mistrust. 

"Daddy, can I have some jerky and cheese?" 

"Sure, dear heart." Jaskier set to work as soon as he stepped into the kitchen while Aiden hoisted Erica onto the nearby table, letting the girl sit there and watch her father make lunch. "Aiden, do you want anything while I'm at it?" 

_ That  _ seemed to take Aiden by surprise - being treated kindly by Jaskier. 

"You really don't have to…" 

"I know. If I minded, I wouldn't have asked," Jaskier told him without looking up from his task of cutting up cheese into manageable cubes for Erica. 

"I, uh… I'm okay. Thank you, bard."

"That nickname is hardly fitting anymore," Jaskier blurted out, unable to stop himself, "everyone here calls me this, but I stopped being a bard a while ago."

"You don't simply stop being a bard," Aiden challenged in a tone which left no room for argument, "but if you wish for us not to call you that, you simply have to say."

They left it at that. Jaskier handed Erica a plate of cold meats, cheese and bread, together with a cup of goat's milk. While the girl ate her lunch with gusto, Jaskier went to stand next to Aiden, leaning with his back against the wall. 

"The others seem to not engage with you much," Jaskier remarked casually, testing the waters, "after today, I'm beginning to question why. You're really good with Erica."

"She's a good kid," Aiden smiled softly as his eyes came to rest on Erica, "children usually are, until their parents poison their minds with prejudice and fear of the unknown."

"I agree. And while I know I'm not the perfect parent, I always put a lot of emphasis on tolerance."

"You're doing well, ba-... Jaskier," Aiden corrected himself, his eyes meeting Jaskier's for the first time since the start of the conversation, "I have no doubt she'll grow into a confident and intelligent young woman."

Jaskier noticed that unlike the rich amber he had become accustomed to, Aiden's eyes were a rich green with hints of yellow around the dark pupils and on the outside of the irises.  _ Fascinating!  _

"I appreciate you saying that."

"And to answer your not-quite question about why the others mistrust me… They have good reasons to. My school, they're known to be…  _ different _ . The wolves, and most other witchers, don't approve of our methods. Neither do I. Yet, it appears that everyone conveniently fails to see that."

Jaskier noticed the set jaw and the tense muscles in his arms crossed over a strong lean chest. Aiden was on the defensive, ready to snap at Jaskier if he as much as thought the wrong thing. Aiden didn't know just how much experience Jaskier had in reading people. It was his job, after all, both as a bard and a spy. For the latter, being able to read people was a matter of survival, much like when you were dealing with witchers. 

"It sounds very lonely. I mean, being a witcher is lonely enough without being outcast by your own kind."

Aiden was silent for a moment, but Jaskier noticed the muscles in his jaw relax. 

"It is. Lambert, he's… He used to be like the others, because that's all he knew. He based his opinion of me on stories he had heard from his brothers. Not anymore. Now, he's the only one who really sees me."

Jaskier leaned into Lambert's space slowly, giving the other witcher time to move away if he wished to do so. Aiden stayed put. He let Jaskier's arm graze his and accepted the hand squeezing his strong shoulder. 

"The others will too. I can't speak for Geralt and Vesemir, but I know for a fact that Eskel is only concerned about Lambert getting hurt."

"Hmm. Big brother Eskel," Aiden sneered bitterly, "wonder how much it'll take for him to realise that the furthest thing from my mind is to hurt Lambert of all people. Lambert is my lifeline."

"You know," Jaskier's eyes fell on Erica who ate the last bits of bread as she hummed a lullaby to herself, "I don't think it's anything personal. If I may use an hypothetical analogy here. I know my little girl will grow up someday and meet someone who she'll want to court, perhaps even marry, start a family with. It's an inevitable part of life… doesn't mean I have to like it. No one will ever be good enough for my little, and in much the same way, no one will ever be good enough for Lambert in Eskel's eyes."

As Aiden let that information sink in, the muscles in his arms relaxed as well as a heavy sigh pushed past his lips. Those yellow-green eyes met Jaskier's once again. Their proximity meant that Jaskier could see the freckles scattered across Aiden's cheeks and the bridge of his nose. It made him look young, almost boyish. Jaskier thought they suited the witcher perfectly and briefly wondered if Aiden’s freckles had always been there even before his mutations. 

"I suppose you're right. The wolves are like a pack, they really are. It's… nice. Sometimes Lambert doesn't seem to appreciate it and it makes me mad because… Well, we never had that at my school.  _ I  _ never had that, although I desperately wished for it. Before Guxart took me away, I lived with my parents, my three younger sisters and my younger brother. We were all really close, a happy family until Guxart came along. I guess-"

Aiden paused and sucked in a deep breath between clenched teeth, betraying his frustration. With what, or whom, Jaskier had not figured it out yet. He did not press Aiden, letting the witcher wrestle with his own thoughts for a minute. Jaskier was expecting the Cat witcher to drop the subject just as Aiden spoke again. 

“I guess I foolishly thought that the wolves would accept me as one of their own if they saw me with Lambert. Instead, they treat me like a criminal.”

"You know, it must run in the family. It took Geralt twenty years to see me as his  _ friend _ , nevermind family. They’ll get there, eventually. In the meantime, if you ever feel uncomfortable around the others just know that Erica and I do enjoy your company. We’ll be delighted to spend more time with you."

Jaskier, always the voice of reason. He should really have tried his hand at diplomacy. Then again, he had slept with too many people in high places which would have ruined his career as a diplomat from the get-go. In a different life, perhaps. 

"I don't understand how Geralt could ever let you go. But hey, you know what they say. One man's misery is another man's fortune."

__________

After lunch, Aiden took Erica outside to watch Ciri train on the pendulum, which left Jaskier to return to his chore of sorting out the library. To the bard's surprise, Eskel was already there rearranging books on the shelves. The witcher acknowledged Jaskier's presence with a short greeting. 

"I didn't expect to find you here again, my dear Eskel," Jaskier admitted, ignoring the way his heart fluttered when Eskel's cotton shirt rode up and revealed a defined abdomen and the sensual lines disappearing under the band of Eskel's breeches.. 

"If you don't want me here I can-" 

"Don't you dare finish that sentence, Eskel," Jaskier interrupted him firmly, "I enjoy your company. I just didn't think you'd want to spend most of the day surrounded by dusty books again."

"Saves me from laundry duty. Geralt is on that just now."

The two fell into a companionable silence as they busied themselves with tidying up the library. Those books that looked badly damaged Jaskier kept to one side in case Vesemir wished to restore them. Whenever he came across a title that caught his attention, Jaskier would leaf through the book and get lost in it for a while. He was so engrossed in a chapter of  _ An extensive bestiary of the Northern kingdoms by Professor Harald Gundarsson _ that Jaskier failed to notice Eskel staring at him softly. 

"Aiden helped Erica with the animals this morning. He's a nice guy," Jaskier mentioned to make conversation. He didn't count on Eskel dropping the book in his hand and cursing loudly when it fell on his foot. "Eskel, are you okay?" 

"You and Erica should stay away from Aiden," Eskel gritted between clenched teeth while glaring at the offending book. 

"What? Why? Just because he's from a different school?" Jaskier didn't mean to sound as defensive as he did, but Eskel's reaction had shaken him. 

"No. Because he's a Cat. They're emotionally volatile, prone to violent outbursts."

"Aiden isn't like that," Jaskier argued, "he didn't do anything to make me suspicious or wary of him, Eskel."

"Jaskier-"

"That's enough. Aiden was nothing but courteous to me and Erica, and I will not avoid him based on some unfair prejudice. Not when I am a guest in a castle full of witchers who can protect me and my daughter if need arises, do you understand?" 

Eskel's frown deepened and Jaskier almost thought the witcher would argue back, but instead Eskel took a deep composing breath and exhaled loudly. 

" My apologies," he offered gently, "it was not my intention to upset you. It's just… the Cats underwent different Trials than us wolves. They're unpredictable. I don't want anything happening to you or your daughter."

"And that's admirable, my dear witcher, but I'm her father. I'm the last person who wants anything or anyone to hurt her. Trust  _ my  _ judgement of Aiden if you don't trust the man himself, will you?"

Eskel pursed his lips and lowered his eyes in a way reminiscing of a child scolded. Jaskier could still make out the thick eyebrows creased in a deep frown and the way Eskel worried his lip as he bit back whatever comment rested at the tip of his tongue. 

"Of course. I'm sorry, Jaskier. I don't doubt that you're a competent parent. It's just…" 

Eskel left his sentence hanging in the air, but after his conversation with Aiden that morning, Jaskier understood that Eskel was merely the most protective wolf out of them all. 

"It's reassuring to know that you care about Erica's safety as much as I do, Eskel. It truly is, but you don't have to bear that responsibility by yourself." Jaskier paused there, hoping Eskel would meet his eyes again. He did, albeit shyly. "But thank you, Eskel. Thank you for looking out for us still."

The warm smile those words earned Jaskier was worth more than all the gold on the Continent. 

__________

"What did you mean earlier when you said that Cat witchers underwent different trials?" Jaskier asked Eskel as they left the library and headed down to the dining hall to meet the others. 

"The mutations they were subjected to enhanced Cat witchers' emotions, where our mutations strip us of them. It started out as an experiment, one with disastrous effects. Many cat witchers turned psychotic, killing at a whim, entering something they call 'blood rage'. They gave every other witcher school a very bad name."

Jaskier processed the information as he followed Eskel down the stairs (definitely  _ not  _ staring at the witcher's shapely bottom). 

"Many turned psychotic… implying that some didn't."

"A minority," Eskel agreed reluctantly. 

"Aiden could be an exception."

There was a short pause before Eskel relented.

"He could be."

Jaskier was determined to find out for himself. 

__________

"... and then Ciri jumped off and did a somersault in the air. Daddy, can you teach me how to do that?" Erica asked excitedly as she ended her story. 

"I'm afraid I would be a terrible teacher, my darling," Jaskier told his daughter between two spoonfuls of stew. 

"If you join us at training you could learn to do it," Aiden told the girl while gently nudging her ribs with his elbow, "what do you say, little fox?" 

"Will I have to wear boy clothes if I do that?" 

"It would certainly be more practical, yes," Aiden replied, a small frown appearing on his face at the odd statement. Erica pondered the possibility for a minute before returning her attention to her stew and shaking her head. 

"I don't think I would like that very much if I had to wear boy clothes."

Her statement earned her a few chuckles from the people around the table. Everyone had reconvened in the dining hall for their evening meal after a long day of training and toiling. Ciri, on the other hand, looked horrified. 

"What's so bad about breeches and shirts?" the princess asked, daring Erica to argue her case. To no one's surprise, the confident little girl was anything but shy when it came to sharing her opinions. 

"They're ugly and they have boy cooties."

"No they don't," Ciri told Erica in a haughty tone, "and they're not meant to be pretty, they're meant to be practical."

"Ciri, that's enough," Geralt interrupted their bickering before it escalated, "if she doesn't want to train with us we won't force her."

"Although," Aiden leaned in closer to Erica so he could whisper in her ear, "if you train with us and get very good at it, then you can be one of those girls who wears a dress  _ and  _ fights with a sword, better than any Knight. You could be as fast and strong as a witcher. Isn't that worth getting into boy clothes for a little while?" 

Everyone could hear Aiden's words, but whispering them gave Erica the illusion that she was being let in on a secret only she and Aiden knew about. What child didn't appreciate a good secret? 

"Hmm. I'll think about it."

"There's a good girl."

"If I do it," Erica added as an afterthought, "I want Lambert to teach me."

Jaskier noticed Lambert smile softly out of the corner of his eyes, but the prickly witcher was quick to school his expression before anyone else noticed. 

"Maybe I don't want to teach you," Lambert responded as he stuffed his mouth with bread. Erica gasped dramatically (she truly  _ was  _ Jaskier's daughter) as she stared at Lambert with wide pleading eyes. 

"Why not? I even took care of your horse today, with daddy and Aiden!" 

"What?" Lambert's eyes darted to Aiden, then to Jaskier, his face set in a confused frown. "What is she talking about? You let her near my horse?" 

"It was my idea, Lambert,” Aiden defended his decision, but that did not seem to appease Lambert's irritation, “Oh come on, you know you don't have the patience for it when you're here. You didn't even give it a name." 

"I don't want to be responsible for any injuries on that kid." 

"Relax, Lambert," Geralt grated firmly without looking up from his meal, "they were trying to do you a favour."

Lambert grumbled something unintelligible under his breath, but did not argue and settled for wolfing the rest of his stew and pointedly ignoring Aiden. However, feeling the weight of Erica's wounded look on him eventually forced the witcher to meet the girl’s eyes. 

"What?" 

"You could at least say thank you," said Erica. 

"Fine. Thank you. There, is that better ?" 

"No, because you didn't mean it. You just said that so I would stop talking." Erica crossed her arms before her chest before looking up at Aiden, "Forget it. I don't want to train with Lambert if he's being mean!" 

_ That _ cut deep, evidently, because Jaskier saw Lambert  _ flinch.  _ The witcher hesitantly met Aiden's eyes, who only raised an eyebrow as they held a silent conversation between them. Jaskier was fluent in witcher most of the time - he had picked up  _ some  _ things while travelling with Geralt, whose preferred forms of communication were grunts and monosyllabic responses. Jaskier did not know Lambert and Aiden well enough to decipher what was being said between them, but he could formulate an educated guess after his conversation with Aiden earlier that day. Lambert eventually cursed under his breath before addressing Erica again. 

"Hey little girl, look at me please," Lambert asked, his tone much kinder than Jaskier thought him capable of. When he didn't get a reaction, Lambert insisted, "Look I'm sorry. I really am. I'd love to train you, okay?"

"Well, I don't want you to train me anymore. You hate me."

"I don't hate you, kid." Lambert looked at Aiden for support, and the Cat witcher only smirked at his partner's predicament. Judging by the look on Lambert's face, Aiden was going to pay dearly for that tonight. "Hey, if I let you take care of my horse while it’s here, will you forgive me?" 

That bargain caught Erica's attention instantly. 

"I’ll forgive you if you let me take care of Fudge whenever I want."

"Fine kid, that’s a deal…, wait, who the fuck is Fudge?" Lambert asked, completely forgetting his manners around the girl which earned him a kick in the shin from Eskel across the table. " _ Ow _ ! That hurt, you a-" 

"Fudge is the name of your horse," Aiden interrupted, both so Lambert wouldn't swear a second time in front of Erica and because he had been dying to reveal his prank to his partner since that morning. "Since he didn't have a name, I let Erica pick one. Oh, and we gave him cute little braids too. He looks positively  _ dashing. _ "

"You  _ what _ ?" 

Aiden's response was overshadowed by Geralt and Eskel bursting into fits of laughter that brought tears to their eyes. Even Vesemir was forced to hide his amused smirk behind his tankard of ale - we would not want people thinking the oldest witcher  _ approved  _ of Aiden’s prank, and even found it  _ amusing _ . Meanwhile, Lambert glared at both his brothers in turn. 

"The horse didn't need a name, especially not a name like Smudge. He's a war horse!" he hissed once Eskel and Geralt had calmed down. "And  _ braids _ ? Really? And  _ shut up _ Eskel, how would you feel if they braided Scorpion's mane?" 

"Scorpion is comfortable enough in his masculinity to tolerate braids," Eskel told Lambert, his gravelly voice uncharacteristically high-pitched. 

"Fudge. His name is Fudge," Erica corrected helpfully, which had Geralt choking on his ale as he giggled into his tankard while Eskel struggled to breathe with how much he was laughing. Well,  _ wheezing  _ at this point. Jaskier found himself unable to take his eyes off him, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. That man was truly a sight to behold. 

"Whatever, we are not calling him that," Lambert decreed with an air of finality.

"Do you not like it? We can think of a better one together if you like?" Erica offered sweetly as the wounded look on her face was replaced with one of excitement. His daughter, Jaskier knew, was unable to hold onto a grudge for very long. In a few days she would have forgotten all about the witcher’s bad attitude. Lambert, on the other hand, was briefly left speechless when Erica suggested they do this activity  _ together _ . 

_ Kill them with kindness indeed.  _ Erica had learned from the best. 

"Fine! Anything but Fudge."

___________

"Goodnight dear heart," Jaskier finished tucking Erica into bed before placing a tender kiss upon her hair, "sweet dreams."

"Sweet dreams, daddy," Erica mumbled back, already halfway to the land of dreams. Jaskier smiled fondly as he sneaked out of the room making sure to leave the door ajar for some light to filter through. Geralt had allowed Ciri to stay up later and play cards with Lambert and Eskel downstairs, but Jaskier knew it would not be long before the girl would be ushered up to bed by Geralt as well. Jaskier wondered if the white wolf tucked Ciri in or if he kissed her forehead goodnight. After all, Ciri had been through so much that some tender affection would be a welcome change from the gore and massacres she had witnessed, and Geralt  _ did  _ have a soft spot for the young princess. Jaskier saw it every time Geralt fixed Ciri's collar, or when he let the girl steal a sip of his ale at dinner and pretended he hadn't noticed, but also in the way Geralt beamed with pride every time Ciri held up her own against Lambert during training. Ciri was his child of destiny, and Geralt's new role as her guardian suited him immensely. Jaskier even dared to venture that Geralt was  _ happy _ . 

He deserved to be happy, thought Jaskier. For all his flaws, Geralt was a good man with a heart of gold under that gruff and brash exterior. Fatherhood, or at least acting as a father figure to Ciri, gave Geralt purpose. Who was Jaskier to question that? He knew better than anyone else that fatherhood had the power to change a man. 

Too lost in his own thoughts to notice  _ where  _ he was headed, Jaskier found himself in the middle of a staircase leading to a part of the keep he had never ventured to before. Jaskier looked around almost like he expected someone to appear out of thin air and yell at him to turn back and never return to these parts of Kaer Morhen again. Noticing that there was no one around, Jaskier decided to at least check where the staircase would lead him. As he climbed up the many steps he could hear the wind whistling ominously through the cracks in the walls, letting cold drafts in that chilled Jaskier to the bone. He really should get into the habit of wearing warmer clothes when walking around the keep. After what seemed like an unending trail up Jaskier eventually reached a door, which to his surprise was unlocked. He pushed the door open far enough to peek inside and check that he was not blatantly walking into someone's room - how mortifying would it be to be caught snooping by the other witchers? Thankfully, from what Jaskier could tell, the room was empty. Confident he wasn't invading anyone's privacy, Jaskier stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. He found himself in a circular room - a tower, his brain supplied helpfully - empty save for a single floor candelabra next to one of the windows. 

"Didn't expect company up here," a voice suddenly spoke, pulling an inhuman noise halfway between a yelp and a shriek from Jaskier, which was met with a deep chuckle. "Didn't mean to scare you there, Jaskier."

"Aiden?" Jaskier's eyes landed on a dark form sitting precariously on the edge of the window, holding what looked like a pipe in one hand but Jaskier could not be sure until his eyes had properly adjusted to the darkness. 

"The one and only. Here, let me shed some light on the situation."

Seconds later, the candles on the candelabra lit up as Aiden cast a quick Igni. Although Jaskier was used to witcher magic at this point, he would never cease to find the process fascinating. The room now bathed in the dim light of the candles, Jaskier could see Aiden more clearly. More surprisingly though, Jaskier also noticed the guitar propped against the wall below the window that Aiden was lounging on. Now  _ that  _ was something Jaskier definitely needed to find out more about. Meanwhile, the Cat witcher pulled on his pipe and released the smoke in a long exhale. The distinct smell of strong tobacco reached Jaskier's nostrils and he couldn't help but scrunch his nose up at the strong odour. Jaskier had tried tobacco as a student in Oxenfurt, but the taste had left him feeling sick and had given him a headache. He had not tried tobacco since, and the smell was always a reminder of that first terrible experience. 

"I didn't expect to find anyone here," Jaskier admitted, "I can leave."

"No need," Aiden flashed him a lopsided grin, "You can stay if you like. That is, if the smell doesn't offend your nose too much."

"Reminds me of my student years at Oxenfurt. Bad experience," Jaskier explained as he went to stand next to Aiden by the window. The moon was full and bright in the sky, basking Morhen valley in an ethereal light. A sea of white… Jaskier had never missed his lute quite so much. The songs were practically writing themselves. His eyes fell to the guitar at his feet. 

"You play?" he asked Aiden casually, whose smirk grew wider when he followed Jaskier's gaze and noticed the excitement written clearly on his features.

"I do. Does that surprise you?" 

"I never thought witchers had enough time between training and fighting monsters to learn an instrument," said Jaskier, unable to hide the awe in his voice as he admired the craftsmanship of the guitar. It must have cost Aiden a little fortune. 

"Our school encouraged us to pick up hobbies," Aiden explained before drawing from his pipe again, "so we wouldn't go stir crazy, I imagine. I never really questioned it. Most boys in my year went into smithing or alchemy, but I always had a knack for music. It's helped me on the Path, too. Sometimes when contracts are in short supply I make coin as a street busker. Surprisingly, no one ever picks up on the fact that I'm a witcher when I do that."

"That's perhaps for the best," Jaskier added, earning himself a nonplussed shrug from Aiden. 

"Perhaps. At least I have a nice, easy going retirement plan. Would hate to be forging swords for snotty nobles when I'm even older and creakier from years spent on the Path." Aiden leaned over and grabbed his guitar by the neck with one hand while handing Jaskier his pipe with the other, "Here, hold this for me."

Jaskier did as instructed, his spine tingling in anticipation as he watched Aiden cradle the instrument to his body and tune the guitar accordingly. Nimble finger plucked probingly at the chords as Aiden sound-checked his instrument by ear. Jaskier watched the process with rapt interest. From one musician to another, he knew how an out of tune note could ruin an entire song and he admired Aiden's diligent checks. When the Cat witcher was finally pleased with his checks, he started playing a soft melody. 

It started out soft and slow. Jaskier focused on Aiden's fingers, marvelling at how these strong hands could create such beautiful sounds. As the song progressed, the rhythm picked up and the melody became more energetic, faster and louder, yet Aiden's skilled hands didn't miss a single note. It was a song he knew well, Jaskier realised, a song Aiden had played so often that the movements came as naturally as breathing to him. The song ended far too quickly for Jaskier's taste, but that did not stop him from applauding Aiden's performance enthusiastically. The witcher merely grinned and bowed his head in thanks. 

"That was something else," Jaskier praised him as he handed Aiden his pipe back, "absolutely marvellous. You did that with such ease. Although I must say, my dear witcher, you make me miss my lute oh so terribly."

"A bard without his instrument," Aiden mused softly, and the sadness in his tone did not go unnoticed by Jaskier, "that in itself is a tragedy. Is that why you don't want us to call you by that title anymore?"

"I am  _ never  _ without an instrument, I'll have you know," Jaskier corrected firmly while purposefully ignoring Aiden's accurate observation, "I will always have my voice, and my voice  _ is  _ my best instrument."

"I wouldn't know… I've never heard you sing before. But I'm sure I will at some point. You're here all winter, after all."

"Yes indeed I will be."

Jaskier felt a pang of hurt at the thought. He hadn't sang for a proper audience in a while, and it felt wrong doing so without his lute. When he sold it, it had felt like he was selling part of himself. In giving his lute away, he had felt like was ending a chapter of his life and entering a new one. An uncertain one, at that, where he was a man on the run and hiding from dangerous people. Jaskier did not feel strong enough yet to relive his glory days which he had left behind along with his friends and memories in Oxenfurt. He was not Jaskier the Bard, anymore. He was simply Jaskier, a father, a man with no coin to his name and relying on the kindness of witchers to keep himself and his daughter safe.

"I didn't mean to upset you," said Aiden unexpectedly, his tone soft and apologetic. Jaskier met the other witcher's eyes and managed a sad smile. 

"Is it that obvious?" 

Aiden nodded. The witcher placed his pipe carefully on the window sill before sliding off it himself and gently propping the guitar against the wall once more. 

"Not to mention the fact that you reek of sadness - and yes, our enhanced senses  _ can  _ detect that," Aiden elaborated before Jaskier could interrupt, "but more so it's, um… a special feature of some Cat witchers. Our emotions were enhanced by mutations. Now some Cat witchers turned near crazy, if not outright psychotic because of them. For others, witchers like myself, all the mutations did was make us feel more intensely. Not just rage, or fear, or whatever emotion these sons of bitches hoped to enhance… but also happiness, and sadness, and love. The mutations turned most Cat witchers into murderous psychopaths, and a minority into empaths. Guess which ones were outcast by their own school… "

“Aiden, I-”

“I’m not looking for your pity. Or your sympathy. I just want people to understand.” Aiden sighed as he pushed himself away from the window and faced Jaskier properly, an easy smile on his full lips. “Humans are rarely straightforward. Witchers, even less so.”

Wiser words had never been spoken. Jaskier had yet to find out just how tangled and convoluted witchers  _ truly  _ were on the inside.

  
  
  
  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter is late, but it's deadline season and I had to prioritise my uni work. So I only managed to edit this chapter today.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy it!

Chapter 7

Aiden was surprised to find Lambert already in their shared bedroom when he got back from the tower. Lambert was in the process of removing his boots and britches, which told Aiden that the Wolf witcher had only just recently entered the room. His lover was known to stay up and drink himself stupid until the early hours of the morning, but not this time. As soon as Aiden stepped into the bedroom, Lambert's eyes snapped up and softened as they landed on him. A small smile tugged at the corner of Lambert's lips, all for Aiden, and the reaction never failed to make his insides turn to mush. He was one of the very rare creatures on the Continent who got to see Lambert's soft side, and the Cat witcher knew just how lucky and privileged he was. He would cherish every smile he got. Aiden propped his guitar against the wall by the door and placed his pipe on Lambert's chest of drawers, which was littered with various alchemical formulae and well used maps. 

"We heard you play," said Lambert as he unlaced his boots and tossed them to one corner of the room, "it was nice. You haven't touched that guitar since that hunt…" 

"Jaskier found me in the tower and I thought I'd show a bard that witchers can be musically gifted, too." 

Lambert rose to his feet and slipped out of his shirt and breeches before burying himself in Aiden's warm and welcoming embrace. The younger witcher nuzzled the spot where Aiden's throat and jaw met, biting lovingly at the rough skin and pulling a needy groan from Aiden. 

"Mmh, I love clingy drunk Lambert," Aiden mumbled as his lips sought Lambert's in a tender kiss. 

"And yet you're still fully clothed and clearly not in my bed." 

Lambert impatiently tugged at Aiden's shirt, whining deeply in his chest when his lover did precious little to speed things along. Aiden eventually took pity on the younger witcher and in record time the Cat had stripped and joined Lambert under the covers. The fire was already roaring in the hearth - of course it was, this was Lambert's room after all. It became clear that Lambert was in a cuddly mood, and Aiden was more than happy to oblige him. If only the wolves could see then like this, Lambert seeking Aiden for comfort and curling into the safety of his arms. He was Lambert's safe place, and Aiden would rather slit his own throat than ever let any harm come to his precious wolf. Why could the others not see that? 

"You spent a lot of time with the bard and his offspring today," Lambert remarked, his words muffled by Aiden's hairy chest. 

"Aww kitten, is that jealousy I hear in your voice?" Aiden teased, earning himself a swat to his shoulder for his efforts. 

"Just curious, s'all."

Aiden grinned as he pulled Lambert closer, his lips pressed to his lover's temple in a firm reassuring kiss. Aiden knew how self-conscious and insecure Lambert could get, and sometimes the younger witcher needed to know that Aiden still loved him. Oh and how Aiden loved him. There was nothing he wouldn't do for Lambert. There is a myth about Cat witchers that their mutations affect their emotions to such an extent that some boys were known to enter what was referred to as a "bloodrage". Complete hogwash, of course, lies made up by parents to scare children or by bards to entertain the masses. The School of the Cat never deemed it fit to disprove those myths, however, and soon the rumours reached town aldermen and the aristocracy and everything went tits up from there. It served the Cat witchers' purpose well and kept people clear from the Stygga Citadel, and later, the Dyn Marv Caravan. Aiden had never believed that such a thing as a bloodrage was even possible, but if anything or anyone ever hurt Lambert well… Aiden did not exclude a bloodrage-like reaction. 

Lambert was his everything, his family. And if only the others accepted him into their pack, he would prove himself a valuable ally. He would protect all of them with his life. 

"The girl, Erica… she reminds me of my youngest sister, Haley," Aiden admitted in a whisper. Lambert peppered featherlight kisses across Aiden's neck and collarbone, letting his lips linger over the Cat's pulse point. Aiden relaxed into the affection. No one ever got to see Lambert like this. To everyone else, their relationship revolved around pranking each other and arguing. It was only what they showed to the world. Behind closed doors, Lambert made it up to Aiden and allowed himself to be vulnerable, to show his softer side. They never brought their arguments and pranks into the bedroom. Once the door shut behind them, they were in a safe and comfortable space. Aiden was happy with that arrangement. It was nobody's fucking business, anyway. 

"Tell me about her," Lambert gently prompted. 

"She was… just like Erica. The spitting image, in fact, it's uncanny. The same long dark hair, the same blue eyes and the dimples… Haley was kind and generous with her affections. She had a heart bigger than the sun itself which she wore on her sleeve. She loved everyone she met, she trusted too easily. Mama used to give Haley into trouble for talking to strangers, warned her that someone could snatch her away. Ironic really how they ended up snatching me instead."

Lambert let his fingers trail gently over Aiden's wound, pulling a startled hiss from the Cat witcher. Lambert whispered an apology into Aiden's skin before propping himself onto one elbow to appraise the wound more closely. Lambert's eyebrows were creased in a worried frown as he poked and prodded at the sensitive skin. While the wound had been stitched expertly, Aiden knew he needed to take it slowly, as much as he hated the idea. He hated feeling vulnerable, like most witchers did, and Lambert's caring attention only made himnfeel worse about himself. Aiden hated to be the reason for Lambert's worry. 

" Lamb, you know I'm fine. Stop fussing like a mother hen!" 

That had clearly been the wrong thing to say, for Lambert's amber eyes snapped up and narrowed dangerously as they stared into Aiden's yellow-green ones. 

"You almost died, Aiden! And instead of taking your injury seriously, you just carried on peacocking your way through training like an absolute idiot-" 

"Hey, hey," Aiden captured Lambert's lips into a cheeky kiss to shut him up, "I'm sorry, kitten. I'm sorry."

"Mmh," huffed Lambert as he settled back into Aiden's arms. 

"You're beginning to sound more and more like old papa Vesemir," Aiden said before his brain had a chance to tell his mouth to shut the fuck up. Before Lambert had a chance to jump down his throat, Aiden put on his best Vesemir voice and exclaimed solmenly, "All that peacocking will get you killed, my boy. Discipline and diligence, now those are good qualities in a witcher! Oh look, a mean Cat witcher, bleh !" A startled chuckle pushed past Lambert's lips at that last part, a reaction that brought a smile to Aiden's lips. He loved to make Lambert laugh. "Hah! Made you laugh!" 

"Shut up, asshole."

"You can't stay mad at me," Aiden sing-songed happily before nipping at Lambert's lip playfully and rolling on top of his lover. Aiden should have known better than to tackle a wolf unawares because Lambert took his action as an invitation to wrestle. Their scuffle ended up with Lambert tackling Aiden to the mattress, both wrists pinned over his head and strong thighs squeezing him into place, though not hard enough to cause Aiden's wound any discomfort. 

"I win," Lambert exclaimed triumphantly, "what's my prize?" 

"How about a kiss?" Aiden suggested, wagging his eyebrows suggestively. 

"Piss-poor prize when I get to kiss you all the time. Think harder." 

"Oh fine, you can fuck me tonight. Is that better, o Lord Lambert?" 

"Much better," Lambert leaned down to steal a hungry kiss from Aiden's lips, but rather than carry on down that route the younger witcher wrapped himself around Aiden and tucked his head right under his lover's chin. Aiden huffed in indignation. "Oh relax, pussycat. I'll claim my prize in just a minute. Let the room warm up first."

"Hmm. Tease!" 

"Always have been, always will be," Lambert assured with a cheeky wink, "and by the way, your Vesemir impression wasn't bad but there's room for improvement."

"You wanna bet?" Aiden challenged, knowing Lambert couldn't resist a good dare, "Let's show him our impressions and let him decide."

"You're already on thin fucking ice, Aiden. Wanna make it worse for yourself?" 

"I would face Vesemir's wrath twice over if it meant seeing your beautiful smile and hearing your gorgeous laugh," said Aiden earnestly, from the bottom of his heart, and it was the gods' honest truth. Lambert could hear the sincerity in his lover's tone and his fondness was betrayed only by the shadow of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

"You sap. That's what you get for spending so much time with a bard."

"Shut up and kiss me already, kitten!" 

And this time, Lambert committed. 

__________

The entire keep woke up to the shrill sound of hysterical screams coming from Ciri and Erica’s room. Jaskier was out of bed and at the girls’ door in a flash, his heart dropping in his chest at the thought of anything happening to his daughter. Geralt and Eskel were quick to follow him, but to Jaskier’s surprise it wasn’t Erica producing these near inhumanly pitched screams. It was Ciri. 

“Daddy! Help, Ciri won’t wake up!” Erica shouted as soon as she caught sight of Jaskier, her eyes wide with panic and slightly wet from the tears of fear welling up in her eyes. Geralt and Eskel were by Ciri’s bedside and making sure the girl was comfortable from what Jaskier could see. Geralt held a vial in his hand that Jaskier did not recognise, but he guessed by the practiced movements that these night terrors were a regular occurence. Jaskier could not tear his eyes away from Ciri, his heart constricting painfully in his chest as he watched the young princess convulse and twitch despite Eskel’s firm hold on her. Her eyes, Jaskier noticed, were veiled over like she had gone blind. This wasn’t a night terror. Jaskier wasn’t too sure what it was, but it certainly wasn’t anything any girl Ciri’s age should have to endure. 

“Take the child away from here,” another voice - Vesemir’s - sternly instructed Jaskier as soon as the oldest witcher stepped into the room, “Eskel, go grab some fresh towels and a basin of cold water for the fever. Geralt, keep a hold of her hand if you can, it seemed to soothe her the last time”. 

With Vesemir taking charge of the situation, Jaskier finally snapped out of his trance-like state and quickly gathered a clearly upset Erica into his arms before leaving the room and shutting the door behind them. Once they were out in the chilly corridor, Erica let out a string of terrified sobs. 

“Shh dear heart, it’s alright, Ciri will be okay. Shh, it’s okay baby daddy’s here, he won’t let anything happen to you.” Jaskier gently bounced Erica in an up-and-down motion as he tapped her back the same way he used to do when she was a baby. More screams and muffled curses could be heard from inside the room, only spurting Erica’s panic along as her sobs became more erratic. Jaskier decided to get away from there and headed for the kitchen, still whispering reassuring nothings in his daughter’s ear. When that wasn’t enough to calm Erica, Jaskier began to sing. 

Hush, hush little baby, don’t say a word. Papa’s gonna buy you a mockingbird. And if that mockingbird won’t sing, papa’s gonna buy you a diamond ring. And if that diamond ring turns brass...

Thankfully Erica’s sobs subsided until all Jaskier could hear were quiet sniffles and occasional hiccups as the sound of his voice soothed his daughter. Erica was still clinging onto him for dear life, skinny arms wound tight around his neck to the point where she was almost suffocating him. Jaskier held on just as tight to hide the way his hands were shaking. What the fuck had just happened up there? He was familiar with people having night terrors, but Ciri looked positively possessed. And that vial? What had Geralt given the girl? Jaskier had so many questions which, he was sure, would for the most part remain unanswered what with witchers being so fucking secretive.

Jaskier paced up and down the main hall, still keeping up his soft singing until he felt Erica go lax in his arms. Even then, Jaskier did not stop moving. He felt restless, more restless than he had felt in days. He could not unsee Ciri’s veiled eyes and the intense convulsing which had even Eskel struggling to hold the girl's squirming form still. What kind of dark power had taken a hold of Ciri if even a grown witcher could not keep the little girl still? Could it possibly affect Erica in the future? At the thought, Jaskier’s hold tightened around his daughter who let out a soft groan of protest. 

“Too tight, daddy,” she informed him sleepily, earning herself a soft apology from Jaskier who then proceeded to kiss her cheek in apology. The sound of Erica’s rumbling tummy finally gave Jaskier new purpose, and without asking if his daughter felt hungry enough to get a snack he headed for the kitchen. He needed to keep his hands and mind busy or risk his thoughts spiralling once again. Eskel was not here to ground him, this time, and now was not the time to lose control over his emotions. Breathe, Jask, breathe. When he and Erica stepped into the kitchen, Jaskier was surprised to see Aiden and Lambert sitting at the table playing cards and nursing two cups of hot tea of all things. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought-”

“It’s okay,” Aiden was quick to interject, offering a small smile that did not quite reach his eyes, “you can hide here for a while. Ciri will be fine in a couple of hours.”

“Hours?” Jaskier parroted, voice high-pitched with disbelief. Erica’s small whine quickly convinced Jaskier to keep his calm, if only for his daughter’s sake. “I gather this happens often, then?”

“Not as often as you might think,” Lambert supplied without looking up from his hand, “but often enough for us to want to be prepared. She’ll be fine. She’s been fine in the past, so there’s no reason why that would change now.”

That matter-of-fact and at first glance reassuring statement, Jaskier realised, was not so much directed at him than at Lambert himself. The younger witcher was comforting himself, telling himself that Ciri would be alright simply because he could not stomach the alternative. Nobody could, understandably, not even Jaskier. Ciri was only a child, albeit a slightly feral one when she wanted to be, but a child nonetheless. Geralt’s child by the law of surprise. Jaskier could only imagine how worked up his friend was over Ciri’s state. He briefly wondered if he should've stayed there to offer Geralt his moral support, from one father to another. 

“Can I fix anyone a snack or a drink? Something stronger than tea?” Jaskier offered as he lowered Erica to the ground. The girl was reluctant to let go but she was quick to find refuge in the safety of Aiden’s lap, who willingly welcomed the anxious child into his arms. 

“There’s moonshine in the bottom cabinet, behind the pots,” Lambert directed, which to Jaskier sounded very close to a yes please, do pour us all a drink while you’re at it, our nerves won’t stand it otherwise. Jaskier was impressed at how fluent he was in witcher-speak. Aiden and Lambert continued with their game while Jaskier served moonshine into three cups, poured some milk into a separate one for Erica and threw a handful of dried fruit onto a clean plate. The fact that Aiden had a lapful of Erica blocking his view of the game didn't seem to bother him in the slightest. 

"Would you just put down a card, Lambert," Aiden urged, earning himself a vague hand gesture in response. Lambert narrowed his cat-like eyes as he carefully considered his next move while Aiden merely rolled his eyes. "I don't want to spend all winter on this one game!" 

"Quiet, old man!" Lambert snapped as he went to pick a card, but decided against it last minute. The action pulled an irritated groan from Aiden. 

"What are you playing?" Erica asked shyly as she buried herself further into Aiden's warmth. 

"Gwent," said Aiden, his tone considerably softer, "it's a complicated game."

"I'm smart enough to learn," Erica told the witcher in a self-assured tone.

“I don’t doubt that, little one. Maybe some other night we will teach you. Although Lambert is probably the best out of us all, even if he takes ages to make decisions. Whatever you do, don’t get Eskel to teach you,” Aiden joked, pulling an undignified snort from Lambert. Jaskier raised an eyebrow at the remark as he brought the moonshine and Erica’s cup of milk to the table. 

“I mean, he can’t be good at everything he does. Model student Eskel is shit at cards.” Lambert rummaged through his pouch and retrieved a single coin from it, which he flicked in Erica’s direction as he made eye contact with the girl. Erica eyed the coin suspiciously before meeting Lambert’s amused gaze. “It’s for you. We don’t have a swear jar, but I trust you’ll take care of that coin.”

Jaskier watched his daughter pick up the coin and stare at it for a while, mesmerized by its polished shine. Aiden, for his part, had eyes only for Lambert, despite his apparent irritation mere minutes earlier, and wore the softest smile as he watched the heartwarming interaction between the prickly wolf and the little girl. 

“I will,” Erica swore solemnly as she trapped the coin in her small clammy fist, “I wonder if Ciri is feeling better now.”

“She’ll be fine by morning, little one,” Aiden reassured her, his tone confident and warm, “she’s a strong girl, just like you. Don’t worry, Vesemir, Geralt and Eskel have it all under control. Nothing will happen to Ciri.”

Jaskier replayed Aiden’s words in his head all night, long after he and Erica had headed back upstairs. He did not sleep a wink that night. 

__________

Jaskier found Geralt at Ciri’s bedside early that morning when sleep had evaded him long enough that the bard had decided to get out of bed so he wouldn't wake Erica with his restless tossing and turning. Eskel and Vesemir were nowhere to be seen and Jaskier assumed that they had given Geralt some space to be alone with his child surprise. Conscious that he might not be wanted, Jaskier knocked softly on the door and waited for Geralt to invite him in.

To Jaskier’s astonishment, Geralt did. 

“How are you holding up, my friend?” Jaskier kept his voice down to a hushed whisper so he wouldn’t disturb Ciri’s recuperating sleep. Geralt merely shrugged. 

“I hate seeing her like this.”

In that single statement, Geralt had expressed more emotions that he had in twenty years of travelling the Path with Jaskier. It was an improvement, but simultaneously such a foreign concept to Jaskier that he was briefly left speechless and at a loss for what to say. What comfort could he possibly offer that would make the situation more bearable for Geralt? The witcher had to watch his child of destiny go through these episodes unable to offer Ciri any comfort. A helpless observer while his daughter was in pain. Jaskier could not imagine anything worse. His heart went out for the witcher sitting at Ciri’s bedside, but Jaskier knew that words would be of little help to Geralt. Instead, the bard squeezed his friend’s shoulder - you’re not alone, Geralt, the gesture said, I’ve got you. Jaskier did not expect a reaction, and much less for Geralt’s hand to instantly shoot up and grab onto his tightly. 

“We… we don’t know what’s causing it, or how to stop them. We just know that she’s having visions… bad visions,” Geralt’s voice was uncharacteristically tight as he spoke, “Eskel has to pin her to the bed so she doesn’t… so she doesn’t hurt herself, and… fuck, he has to use so much force to keep her still. She’s just a girl…”

“She’s lucky to have you, Geralt,” Jaskier found himself murmuring as he tried not to wince at Geralt’s tightening grip. He needs this, Jaskier thought, needs someone to anchor him. And for once, Geralt trusted Jaskier enough to be vulnerable around him. It was an important step in their friendship, one that Jaskier was intent on not messing up. 

“I’m fucking helpless, Jask. I’m useless. She’s in pain and she's scared, and all I can do is sit there and stare like a fucking moron.”

“But you’re there. You stay even though seeing her that way is unbearable,” Jaskier barely managed to hide the tremor in his voice that the nickname triggered in him, but for once Geralt needed someone else to be strong for him and Jaskier refused to let his friend down at such an important stage of their friendship, “you’re doing a good job, Geralt. You’ve kept it together long enough. It’s okay to let go for a little while. I got you for now.”

Geralt heaved a heavy sigh and leaned forward to brush the damp hair out of Ciri’s face, pale skin flushed with fever. His amber eyes stared at the girl with such love and care that Jaskier felt his heart tighten in his chest. Geralt placed a firm kiss to her forehead before rising to his feet and turning around to face Jaskier. 

“Thank you, Jaskier. I needed to hear that.”

And without any warning, Geralt pulled Jaskier into a tight embrace. Strong arms wound themselves around Jaskier’s shoulders and squeezed, nearly knocking all the air from Jaskier’s lungs, but the latter found himself hugging the witcher back with just as much force. They stood wrapped in each other’s arms for a while, basking in the comfort of the other’s presence. When Geralt pulled away, he pressed his forehead briefly against Jaskier’s, the same way Eskel and Vesemir had done upon Eskel’s return to the keep. Affection, Jaskier’s brain supplied. Family.

The moment was broken by a soft knock on Ciri’s door. 

“How is she?” Eskel asked, his brows furrowed in concern. 

“She slept through. Doesn’t look like she’ll wake up anytime soon,” said Geralt. Eskel merely nodded.

“I’ll tell Lambert that Ciri is on bedrest for the day. He can focus on getting Erica’s training started today.”

“Thanks, Eskel." Geralt's eyes turned to Ciri when a small sigh pushed past the sleeping girl's lips. "I appreciate your help."

"Anytime, wolf," Eskel assured him, "she's family, now. We look out for each other."

___________

Breakfast was a sombre affair. The tension in the air was electric as the witchers tried not to linger on last night's events too much. Vesemir was lost in his own world and his breakfast was left mostly untouched. The older witcher looked like he had aged fifty years overnight. The worn features and dark rings under his eyes spoke of one too many sleepless nights. Geralt and Eskel fared no better, while Lambert and Aiden mostly kept to themselves. Even Erica was quiet as she sensed the unease in the room. Jaskier, meanwhile, had so many questions he wanted answers to. What kind of visions was Ciri having? What kind of potion had Geralt fed her? When did the visions start? 

Jaskier resigned himself to the fact that he would not receive any answers to any of his questions. Until Vesemir spoke:

"I contacted Triss Merigold since you refused to ask Yennefer for help." A statement clearly meant for Geralt, and Vesemir's pointed glare at the white wolf only confirmed Jaskier's theory. Geralt grinded his teeth in annoyance, but didn't dignify Vesemir with an answer.

"Merigold?" Lambert suddenly piped up, his words followed by a drawn out and, in Jaskier's humble opinion, dramatic moan. "Not Merigold!" 

"Would you prefer I had called Keira Metz?" Vesemir retorted in a tone that suggested he knew the answer to that question perfectly well. 

"Triss Merigold will do just fine," Aiden gritted through clenched teeth, a reaction Jaskier had not expected from the Cat witcher. He decided to file that little interaction away for future reference. 

"Why did you call her? I told you I didn't want the sorceresses to get involved." Geralt didn't meet Vesemir's gaze as he hissed these words under his breath. 

"Well that's too damn bad pup, because I've been tolerating this nonsense for six years and we're not any closer to figuring out what is going on with the girl, or how we can help. Triss Merigold is a friend."

"She's also loyal to the fucking Council of Mages," Geralt snapped as he slammed a fist on the table which made Jaskier flinch and Erica let out a startled yelp. "If they get wind of this, they'll want to take Ciri to Thanedd."

"We won't let that happen, boy," Vesemir retorted, but Geralt had clearly been holding onto that rant for a while now and the words suddenly streamed from his mouth like there was no tomorrow. 

"They'll take her to this fucking mage school, mess her up in the head and turn her into yet another pawn. I know what they do to girls. Yennefer told me. I won't let them take her, Vesemir, I won't have her turned into one of them! I won't have them do experiments on her and pick her brain until they take away every last shred of humanity left in her like the mages did with us!"

Vesemir's glare chilled Jaskier to the bone when it wasn't even directed at him. Geralt, to his credit, held his mentor's gaze a split second longer before even the white wolf had to break eye contact. 

"I want Ciri to be safe. These visions are unlike anything I've ever encountered before. I've stood by and watched her go through them for the last six years. Enough, Geralt. She needs help thwt we are unable to provide."

"Those are some mighty words, Vesemir," Geralt grated angrily, "for someone who refused to let the Brotherhood take Eskel to Ban Ard."

If Jaskier thought the atmosphere was tense before, it was nothing compared to now. Geralt and Vesemir were nearly bristling at each other, while Eskel did his best to stare at his breakfast and make himself as small as he possibly could; which for a man his size would have looked comical if the situation wasn’t so heartbreaking. Jaskier felt Erica cuddle up to him and hide her face in his arm. Sensing her discomfort, he tried to think of a way to get his daughter out of the dining hall without attracting too much attention to themselves.

“That was not the same-”

“Why not?” Geralt interrupted, his tone like the crack of a whip, “because he was yours? Because he was a boy and you knew how to handle them? Why not, Vesemir?”

“Geralt, that’s enough!” Vesemir barked as he rose to his feet and planted his hands onto the table, levelling Geralt with another icy glare, “I will not tolerate your insolence. You’re acting like I sold Ciri to the Council of Mages, which I haven’t. I merely asked Triss, a friend, to help the child with whatever chaos is brewing inside of her. You can’t go comparing apples and oranges. Eskel had the potential for magic, yes, but never to that extent. Never to the extent that it would be a threat to his life.”

Geralt’s face fell at those words, almost like the angry haze he had worked himself up to was now lifting like the mid-morning mist. His scowl softened into an expression that Jaskier could only describe as broken. When he looked around the table, Jaskier felt his stomach tighten into a knot. He could see so much heartache around him; in the way Geralt slumped back into his chair under Vesemir’s authoritative gaze, in the way Eskel worried his lip and refused to make eye contact with anyone and in the haunted look on Lambert’s face as he idly stirred his oats and his arm went to clutch onto Aiden’s underneath the table when he thought no one was looking. Jaskier could not stand the sight a minute longer and instead decided to focus on Erica, who gazed curiously at the cranky witchers around her. 

“Why are you guys arguing?” a grouchy but familiar voice broke the prolonged silence, and instantly everyone’s attention was on the shivering form standing in the doorway and rubbing her eyes sleepily. 

“Ciri!” Erica cried out as she maneuvered off her seat and rushed to Ciri’s side, her skinny arms pulling the princess into a tight hug. Ciri only returned the embrace, still visibly frail from her episode. "Are you okay, Ciri?" 

"Mhm."

Ciri didn't fool anyone, except maybe Erica. After recovering from his shock, Geralt was on his feet and joining the two girls in the doorway. 

"Ciri, you'll catch your death wandering around the keep bare feet! Go back to bed, you're on bedrest."

"I feel fine," Ciri snapped, but the effect was lost when her words were followed by a long yawn. "I want to train."

"There'll be plenty of time for that later. You need to rest," Geralt maintained stubbornly as he gently separated Erica and Ciri so he could drag the princess back to bed. 

"But Geralt-" 

"Ciri, that's enough!" Geralt's tone grew decisively sterner and even Ciri seemed unwilling to argue under the intensity of her guardian's gaze. Geralt kept a firm hand on Ciri's skinny shoulder as he guided her through towards the staircase. The others all watched the two leave in silence and Lambert broke it only once he was sure Geralt was out of reach. 

"Well that was a tantrum and a half," the younger witcher commented in a voice far too cheerful to be appropriate to the situation. Vesemir's unimpressed look did jot deter Lambert from elaborating on his initial premise. "Seriously, what's the big deal if Merigold takes Ciri away? What's to say it isn't what's best for the kid? You know, that she grows up surrounded by people who actually know what they're doing?" 

"Drop it, Lambert," grated Eskel moodily, still refusing to look anyone in the eyes. 

"Really? You're gonna take pretty boy's side again even though he basically used you as leverage against Vesemir?" Lambert made disapproving clicking noises with his tongue, which earned him an eye roll from both Vesemir and Aiden. "Oh Eskel, you poor loyal sod. We haven't got a clue what to do with the girl. Sure, we can train her, teach her the way of witchers and turn her into one of us sans the mutations, but apart from that… None of us here are skilled or knowledgeable enough in magic to teach her. Maybe Aretuza is the best place for her."

"Lambert, I said drop it." Eskel did not need to raise his voice to warrant respect, but the sharp edge to his tone put an end to the conversation Lambert was trying to have. To Jaskier's surprise, the younger witcher did not argue. 

"Fine. I don't know about you, ladies, but some of us actually have shit to do. Training, for one. Little girl!" Lambert turned to face Erica, who was busy twirling around the room and softly singing a lullaby to herself. When she heard Lambert's voice address her, Erica stopped in her tracks and gave the witcher her undivided attention. "Come with me, we need to find some training clothes for you. While we're at it, you, Aiden and I can think of a better name for my horse."

"I'll go set up the training dummies in the courtyard," Vesemir declared solemnly and Jaskier could tell that the situation was still weighing on the older witcher. "Jaskier, if you wouldn't mind taking care of the dishes and feed the animals while the others train?" 

"Of course not, I'm happy to help," Jaskier assured Vesemir. 

"Good. Eskel, be down for training in 10."

And just like that, Jaskier and Eskel were once again left on their own. The bard started gathering the dirty dishes and half-eaten breakfasts together and was soon assisted by Eskel, who still refused to look at Jaskier or even utter a word. The witcher's jaw was still set tight, his shoulders tense and dark brows furrowed. Jaskier placed a warm hand on Eskel's arm, an action which startled the other man ever so slightly. 

"Hey. Are you okay?" asked Jaskier with evident worry. Eskel managed a tight smile which didn't reach his usually warm eyes. "Is there anything I can do to help?" 

"This is not your burden, bard. I'll be just fine." 

"I have no doubts that you will be, dear witcher," Jaskier tightened his grip on Eskel's shoulder and offered a genuine smile, "but the beauty of friendship is that you don't have to keep your feelings bottled up until you can't take it anymore and burst. You're not alone. If you want to talk, I'm here."

Jaskier's hand lingered and Eskel didn't shy away from the touch. When their eyes met and Eskel rewarded his perseverance with a grateful smile, Jaskier's whole world shifted in the cosmos and rightened itself on its axis. 

In that moment, Jaskier felt lighter than he had in years.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *content sigh* It feels so good coming back to this story after finishing all my deadlines for christmas. And breathe. 
> 
> This story is getting out of hand, just for your information. I have already planned a 'part 2', which means this story will have many, many more chapters than anticipated. 
> 
> Woops, I guess. This story is the best therapy I could ask for, and so is your support! Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the likes, comments, bookmarks, and subscriptions. You all rock!

Being a parent taught Jaskier many valuable life lessons. Firstly, the best gift he can give his child is the gift of time. Going away on assignments for Dijkstra meant that Jaskier and Erica wouldn’t see each other for weeks on end. The pay was good and Jaskier was able to spoil his daughter with gifts upon his return, but nothing compared to seeing Erica’s face light up when Jaskier told her that he would be home for a couple of months at least. Secondly, Jaskier learned that yelling and negative reinforcement did not teach Erica to respect him, but rather to fear him. Jaskier decided that he would rather slit his own throat than ever give his precious girl a reason to fear him. Respect was a two-way street; if Jaskier wanted Erica to respect him, he had to extend her the same courtesy. And finally, Jaskier was beginning to learn that enjoying some alone-time away from Erica didn’t make him a bad parent, as much as the guilt twisting his stomach would have him believe. 

Several days after Ciri’s seizure - Jaskier referred to her episode as such because it was a term he understood and could wrap his head around - the witchers had resumed their own training and that of the two girls. That left Jaskier with some amount of free time for him to explore the keep that he and Erica would call their home for the foreseeable future. After completing the chores Vesemir had assigned him as well as taking over Erica’s animal tending chores so his daughter could fully enjoy her training, Jaskier decided to familiarise himself with the dark corridors of Kaer Morhen. The only places he could navigate comfortably were the common areas, the kitchen, his own bedroom and the hot springs - the glorious hot springs that Jaskier happily visited daily, sometimes several times in the same day. The pleasantly warm pools had also been an opportunity for Jaskier to spend more quality time with his daughter by teaching her how to swim, and on one occasion, to dive. Ciri often joined Erica in the pools on her afternoons off, and the girls would spend hours playing and gallivanting in the hot springs. 

Other than that, Jaskier had no idea how to orientate himself in the witchers’ keep, which is why he had decided to go on a little adventure of his own. He briefly considered asking Vesemir for permission to do so - after all, he was the master of the house, and Jaskier would be mortified if he happened upon anything that wasn’t meant for his eyes to see. In the end he decided against it. The risk of Vesemir saying no was too great, and Jaskier was curious by nature.  _ Easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission _ . Another one of granny Pankratz’ wisdoms. Comforted by his dead grandmother’s words, Jaskier set out to discover his new home. The witchers’ bedrooms were out of bounds, naturally. Jaskier was not  _ that  _ thoughtless. He did not want to invade anyone’s privacy and make them uncomfortable. Most of the other rooms he stepped in were used as storage or were clearly old bedrooms which had not been in use since the last witchers-in-training had left Kaer Morhen to walk the Path and fulfill their heroic destinies. Some doors were locked and would not even budge when Jaskier tried to force them open. He made a note to enquire about those at some point. 

Disheartened by his rather uneventful exploration of Kaer Morhen, Jaskier was ready to give up on his hopes to find anything remotely interesting in any of the many rooms. He was not expecting to find anything more than another storage room or empty space behind that last door, and yet a little voice in the back of his mind urged him to open it. What was one more disappointment, after all? Jaskier opened the door and stepped into the room. On the face of it, it  _ was  _ another storage room, but his eyes still widened as he bit down an excited scream. Scattered around the room were various instruments; drums mostly, but also flutes, guitars, violins, and was that a  _ piano _ ? Jaskier could not believe he let his enthusiasm get the better of him. A  _ music room _ . How could the witchers have kept the existence of this room a secret from him, from  _ Jaskier  _ who was a fucking bard  _ by trade _ ? He would have to have a serious talk with Geralt, and with Eskel for that matter. How could either of them have failed to mention this little slice of heaven which had been under Jaskier’s nose for however many weeks now? Coming onto three, his mind supplied helpfully. Time was truly flying by. 

“Oh, would you look at that?” Jaskier mumbled to himself as he spied a lute in between the many drums all shoved in a pile under the east-facing window. He carefully stepped over the other instruments sprawled carelessly all over the floor - dusty, some broken, but all of them seemingly forgotten - until he could reach for the lute. Jaskier delicately pried it free from its confines and his heart began racing rapidly in his chest as excitement took over once again. The strings remained intact, a fact which surprised Jaskier, but the wooden body had seen better days. Nothing that Jaskier couldn’t fix, though. A musician always had to know how to fix his instrument. He had learned a few tricks over the years. All Jaskier needed was sandpaper to smoothen the wooden surface so he could maybe paint the lute’s body. Jaskier could even let Erica and Ciri be in charge of decorating the instrument once it was done. 

With this new project lifting his spirits, Jaskier left the music room with a new-found spring in his step. 

___________

“Watch where you’re going,” Lambert instructed when he noticed Erica’s attention waning as her eyes followed the trajectory of a sparrow zooming over her head, “eyes on your opponent, always keep your eyes on your opponent. Keep your sword lifted!”

“How did you get that scar on your face?” the girl asked while straightening her posture and raising her wooden sword like Lambert had instructed. Her big blue eyes were staring at him openly with childlike curiosity and innocence. That child looked far too cute for her own good. 

“It’s not a story suitable for babies,” Lambert teased, relishing in the affronted noise he got in return. 

“I’m  _ not  _ a baby!” Erica argued, her brows creased in irritation as she glared daggers at Lambert. The hand which wasn't clutching onto the sword for dear life balled into a tiny fist at her side. It was adorable how Erica thought she could intimidate Lambert with that bratty attitude. “I’m a young woman, that’s what Miss Shani used to say!”   
  


“A young woman? You’re like what, three?” Lambert taunted her even more.

“I’m  _ five _ , actually,” the girl retorted haughtily, “and I’m a big girl!”

“Well if you’re such a big girl, how come you can’t even hold up a wooden sword?”

That was clearly the last straw for Erica, who rose to Lambert’s bait instantly and charged at him as fast as her little legs would carry her with a loud belligerent roar, sword raised above her head using both hands. When she was close enough, Erica used her momentum to whack Lambert’s shin with the sword, but just before her weapon could make impact the witcher stepped out of her way, causing Erica to run past him. Momentarily disoriented, the girl tried to look around her for any sign of Lambert but ended up losing her balance and falling flat on her backside. Lambert could not hide the amused smirk that graced on his lips. In his defense, he did try his hardest not to cackle at the scene before him. Erica glared daggers at him. 

“You moved out of my way on purpose!” she accused.

“Well yes, of course I did,” Lambert crouched before her and offered his hand in assistance, but Erica ignored it and rose to her feet herself while trying to hide the way her cheeks flushed in embarrassment, “hey kid, first rule about one-no-one combat - if someone comes charging at you with a sword, move out of their way.”

“But I thought I was your friend!” The betrayed expression on Erica’s face almost tugged at Lambert’s heartstrings… almost. _ Fine _ , maybe a little bit, but Lambert would rather be seen running the walls of Kaer Morhen wearing nothing but a feather up his arse before he admitted having a soft spot for the bard’s brat. No amount of whining, or emotional blackmail, or wobbly lips would make him feel bad for Erica. Fuck,  _ wobbly lips _ ?

“Hey kid, none of that,” Lambert spoke softly, panic flaring up in him when he saw tears well up in the girl’s eyes, “yes of course I’m your friend, but not everyone out there will be. Do you understand? The point of this is for me to teach you to defend yourself.”

“You don’t hate me?” Erica asked, insecurity lacing her voice and this time, Lambert’s heart broke in his chest. He was still crouching while the girl stood to her full height, barely taller than him despite their current positions. Seeing her so upset over the thought of  _ him _ , of all fucking people, hating her… Lambert might be an assehole, but he wasn’t a heartless one. 

“Nah kid, I don’t hate you." Lambert gently nudged Erica's chin with his knuckles and the girl was doing her best to hide the smile blooming on her lips. "You’re alright… for a girl,” he could not help but add, and it had the desired effect. In an instant, Erica’s tears completely vanished and the sad frown morphed into a determined one. 

“I’ll show you what a girl can do!” she told him in a firm voice before raising her sword and squaring up to Lambert. The latter only smirked as he rose to his feet.  _ Much better _ . 

“Good girl. Now, where were we…”

Eskel had observed the whole scene from where he was leaning against the wall a few feet away. Lambert was undoubtedly the best teacher out of them all, a fact that never failed to surprise Eskel. When Geralt had first showed up with Ciri six years ago and Lambert had volunteered to train her, everyone had been surprised. Vesemir had even tried to dissuade Lambert from taking on that role. Everyone knew how quick-tempered and impatient he could be and the last thing they wanted was for him to traumatise the girl even more. Lambert had insisted though and Vesemir eventually relented and agreed to give him a chance. Nobody could have guessed, not even in their wildest fantasies, that Lambert would be so good with the kid. He was patient with Ciri, repeating himself often without losing his temper, and even though he pushed her past her limits he would always reward her efforts with praise and sometimes with a treat. Most recently, Lambert had treated Ciri to a fishing trip on the lake near the keep. Ciri still talked about it now and regularly pleaded with Lambert to take her out on his boat again. 

That was the thing about Lambert; under the prickly exterior lay an unconditionally loyal man protective of the people he cared about. Admittedly, that exclusive circle only comprised a handful of people including Eskel and Geralt, Vesemir, the Cat witcher and Ciri. Erica would soon worm her way into Lambert’s heart as well, Eskel could just tell. A small chuckle tumbled past his lips when Erica launched herself at Lambert and the younger witcher let himself dramatically fall to the ground as Erica pressed the blunt tip of her wooden sword into his gut. 

“Mercy, please have mercy!” Lambert cried out theatrically, clutching at his heart and letting out a guttural groan, “you little minx may have won this round, but certainly not the war!”

Erica’s victorious cry was quickly replaced by high-pitched giggles when Lambert pinned her to the ground and started tickling her sides mercilessly. Eskel watched the scene fondly and was so lost in thought that he barely registered Jaskier’s presence until the bard was standing right next to him, out of breath and looking slightly dishevelled. What caught Eskel's attention the most was the wide grin on the bard's face and the way those blue eyes shone with barely contained happiness. 

"Are you alright?" Eskel asked, earning himself a radiant grin in return. 

"As a matter of fact, I feel more like myself than I have in months. Dare I say, in  _ years _ !" 

Erica chose that moment to look their way and as soon as she spotted her father, the little girl cried out for him to help her escape Lambert’s assault. Thankfully Jaskier did not have to intervene because the younger witcher did take pity on the girl after he got her to yield and loudly declare Lambert the winner of their little scuffle. As soon as Erica was free, she hurried to Jaskier’s side and hid behind him as if that action alone would prevent Lambert from getting to her again. Jaskier twisted around so he could smile warmly at his daughter who was glancing up at him through her long lashes, still struggling to catch her breath. Eskel caught the mischievous glint in the girl's eyes. 

"Hi daddy," she panted through a lungful of laboured breaths. 

"Deep breaths, my heart." 

“I can’t stay for long, Lambert promised he would let me groom Storm today.” 

Jaskier’s confused frown did not faze the girl as she explained to her father how she and Lambert had agreed on a new ‘manlier’ name for Fudge. A shadow creeping past them caught Eskel’s attention. The fingers of his right hand twitched at his side as they itched to reach for the sword strapped to his back, but thankfully he recognised Aiden in the last second. The Cat witcher had probably been lurking around the area for some time and escaped Eskel’s notice. Yet another reason why Eskel was still so wary around Aiden - he rarely heard or saw him coming and there was nothing worse to a witcher than the thought of  _ something  _ being able to creep up on them from behind without them noticing. Once Aiden had reached Lambert, his hand immediately sought the lower half of the younger witcher’s back as he leaned into Lambert’s space to whisper into his ear too quietly for Eskel to hear. If Lambert’s dirty smirk was anything to go by, Eskel did not wish to know what was said between them. 

"Hey kiddo!" Lambert called out to Erica from across the training ground. "What are you waiting for, a written invitation? C'mon, hurry up!" 

"You better go, my darling, don't want to keep Storm waiting." Jaskier leaned down and pressed a parting kiss to his daughter's hair. "I'll see you later, okay?" 

"See you later daddy."

Erica took off in Aiden and Lambert's direction, leaving Eskel and Jaskier alone once more. They waited until the sound of Erica's animated chatter faded away before resuming their conversation. 

"So, care to share what's got you in such a good mood?" 

"Let's just say… No, no I won't spoil the surprise." Jaskier winked cheekily at Eskel. The action truly should not have flustered Eskel as much as it did. "You'll find out soon enough. Why, you might even find out by tonight. Who knows…" 

Eskel frowned, but he knew that no amount of prying would convince Jaskier to let the witcher in on his little secret. Eskel decided that it did not really matter so long as Jaskier was happy. Happiness was a good colour on the bard… and an even better smell. Eskel found it increasingly difficult to refrain from openly sniffing the air around Jaskier. The sweet smell of contentment filled Eskel's nostrils and momentarily dazzled his senses. The mutagens had affected every young boy differently, and for Eskel they had done two things: revealed powerful magical abilities and considerably enhanced his sense of smell. He couldn't smell feelings per say. It was much more primitive than that. The way Vesemir had explained it to him when Eskel was a boy was that different hormones released in the human body were responsible for various emotional reactions. Over the years, Eskel had learned to associate certain smells with specific emotions, but of course smells varied from person to person. As a rule of thumb, sweet smells usually conveyed positive emotions and acrid ones usually indicated a negative emotion. Everything else was subjective and difficult for Eskel to pinpoint with absolute certainty. 

Jaskier’s smell was intoxicating. Ambrosial, fresh, and slightly perfumed but that bit of artificial sweetness did not take away from Jaskier’s rich aroma. 

"Well whatever it is you have planned for us, I'm looking forward to it." Eskel was genuinely looking forward to Jaskier's surprise. Anything to break the monotony of winter was a welcome distraction in Eskel's eyes. "Is there anything I can do to help?" 

"Thank you Eskel. You have done much for us already," a soft hand came to rest on Eskel's shoulder and the witcher subconsciously leaned into the warm touch, "I am forever in your debt as it is." 

"Debt implies that you need to repay me for giving you shelter," Eskel's brows furrowed as he pondered that implication and found that he did not like the sound of it in the least. It meant that Jaskier’s friendship could potentially only be motivated by a desire to repay a debt. Eskel’s heart tightened at the possibility. "You don't owe me anything, Jaskier."

"Ah yes," Jaskier's tone had a bitter edge to it that Eskel disliked even more than the implication that Jaskier was in his debt, "you were simply doing what your training requires of you. Saving the world from monsters."

"It is my duty as a witcher to rid the world of monsters, human and non-human alike, but it is any decent man's duty to protect the vulnerable and innocent. Witcher or not."

Jaskier's eyes met Eskel's then, uncertainty dancing in the expressive blue orbs. Even like this, Jaskier's eyes had their own light. They were the eyes of a man with a heart filled to the brim with colour, and love, and life. A million poets could not put into words just how refreshing Jaskier's presence was, not only to Eskel, but to everyone at Kaer Morhen. 

"You're a good man, Eskel. I'm glad our paths crossed that day in Ard Carraigh."

Eskel allowed himself to smile, and if the action tugged grotesquely at his scars he could not bring himself to care. 

__________

That evening after Erica's bath, Jaskier was once again allowed to enjoy some alone time. Ciri had offered to teach Erica the basics of Gwent while Eskel and Geralt volunteered to watch the girls in the library until supper. Jaskier expected to be scribbling down notes on scrolls and scrolls worth of parchment, but his mind came up desperately blank instead. How long had it been since he'd last composed a song? He was out of practice. Jaskier could not, for the life of him, remember  _ how  _ to write, where to begin, what to say. Words, what were those? How did he even begin the process of writing, of composing? Every word, every fragmented sentence sounded clumsy, and clunky and just  _ wrong _ . He managed to write down a couple of verses only to furiously strike them out after staring at them for the gods knew how long. 

Why had no one told him that writing was this hard? 

His muse had left him, for good this time. Jaskier heaved a heavy sigh as he let himself fall back against the pillows propped on his bed which cushioned his fall. He tried to remember how he used to find inspiration back in the day. Well, that was easy. Geralt had been his inspiration. Geralt and his adventures. Only now, at Kaer Morhen, the Geralt well was as dry as the Zerrakanian desert. The White Wolf was hibernating and had become incredibly boring. Thankfully Geralt wasn't the only witcher at Kaer Morhen - Jaskier had his pick of muses. He mentally went through them all - Vesemir, Lambert, Aiden… the potential was there. Jaskier could perhaps write a song honouring the oldest witcher, the Alpha wolf who raised three strong pups and taught them all he knew. Vesemir of Kaer Morhen, who had buried more boys than he had been able to save. Vesemir who loved his three boys like they were his own flesh and blood. Or perhaps Jaskier could focus on Aiden. A Cat witcher, misunderstood by his own kind, outcast by all except for one prickly wolf who saw past the prejudice and the rumours. The Love Story of Lambert and Aiden… or better yet, The Cat and the Wolf…. No, no. That wouldn't do either. 

None of these  _ sounded right _ , gods be damned! Jaskier ended up throwing that scroll into the discard pile.  _ What a load of rubbish.  _

"Call yourself a bard, can't even come up with decent verses… some bard you make, Julian." Jaskier sighed again, resigning himself to the fact that he had lost his touch. He was not the great Bard Dandelion anymore. He was a nobody. A runaway. A  _ coward.  _

Jaskier did not bring his lute down to supper that evening. Thankfully, apart from a slightly concerned look reflected in those amber eyes, Eskel did not comment on the lack of surprise Jaskier had promised him.

__________

Jaskier could not sleep. He had decided to retire to bed at the same time as Erica that night, but sleep stubbornly evaded him. He did not know how long he lay there, tossing and turning under his sheets and huffing loudly when every position failed to feel comfortable for long enough. There was an itch in Jaskier's mind, one that he desperately wanted to scratch but just couldn't, nagging him and keeping him awake. His fingers twitched, desperate to pluck the strings of his lute but his mind refused to come up with good verses. How could he possibly come up with a tune to match the feel of a song he did not have the lyrics for? 

Jaskier's eyes fell on the Elven poetry book Eskel had lended him what seemed like an eternity ago. He had not had the time, nor the energy to leaf through it yet. His Elder Speech was a little rusty - the last time he had read or spoken it was back in Oxenfurt where he had taken the subject as an elective. Reading Elven poetry would certainly challenge his mind and, hopefully, inspire him. Jaskier decided to take the book with him to the library and spend the night there - he knew he would not get any rest that night, so he might as well be productive. Jaskier wrapped himself up in warm clothes and silently slipped out of his room. The witchers would probably wake at the sound of a pin dropping, but Jaskier did not see the point of making unnecessary noise. Before heading for the library, he quietly opened the door to Ciri and Erica's room to check on his daughter. He found both girls fast asleep and snoring softly, cuddled up together in Ciri’s beds. With a soft smile gracing his lips, Jaskier shut the door behind him and navigated the dark corridors of the keep towards the library. 

Kaer Morhen by day was unsettling enough, but at night the keep turned positively eerie. A storm was brewing in the distance and the howling of the wind evoked the image of wailing ghosts. Kaer Morhen was undoubtedly home to many of those, Jaskier thought macabrely. Ghosts of young boys who had not made it past the Trials of Grasses. Geralt had mentioned them once or twice when Jaskier had still been travelling with him. Geralt revealed that only three out of ten boys survived them. Jaskier remembered the way his stomach dropped at the admission, spoken so sadly it had broken his heart. Were these boys' spirits still there, running around the freezing corridors and looking up at their three surviving brothers? 

Jaskier reached the library sooner than expected, his book on Elven poetry tucked securely under his arm. Jaskier did not expect to find someone already occupying the room and his heart lurched in his throat at the sight of Eskel sitting in a chair near the fireplace, an open book on his lap. 

"Oh dear  _ gods, _ " Jaskier exclaimed as he brought a hand to his chest as if the gesture alone would steady his beating heart. He nearly dropped his -  _ Eskel's  _ \- book in the process. "Eskel, you startled me!" 

"Sorry," the witcher apologised, an amused smile teasing the corner of his scarred mouth. "I forget we don't all have superhuman hearing."

"No, we don't!" Jaskier confirmed as he pulled the door shut behind him and went to take a seat opposite Eskel near the warmth of the fire. "Forgive me, I didn't think anyone else would be here."

"No need to apologise. This is a shared space, and I don't mind your company." Eskel marked his page with two thick fingers as he clasped the book shut. His eyes landed on the poetry book in Jaskier's hands. "Have you started on that yet?" 

"I haven't. To be honest, it's been a while since the last time I read Elder Speech. My understanding of the language might have suffered from years of disuse," Jaskier admitted. 

"Ah, yes," Eskel began in a teasing tone, "and what better time to refresh your memory than in the middle of the night when your brain is notoriously more alert and focused."

"Witchers make jokes now?" 

"We do, indeed. Admittedly you travelled for decades with Geralt, who has the driest sense of humour I've ever seen." 

"Not so much dry as nonexistent," Jaskier retorted, only half-joking, "I can count on one hand the amount of times I've seen Geralt smile."

"Hmm. Well, we aren't all like Geralt. If you like, I can help you with the Elder Speech." 

"You would?" Jaskier nearly kicked himself for sounding so surprised. 

"Of course." Eskel got up and pulled his chair closer to Jaskier's. "Let's start with an easy one.  _ Elaine Ettariel.  _ You heard of it?" 

"Yes, in Oxenfurt," Jaskier confirmed as he propped the book open in front of him so that Eskel could read over his shoulder. They were so close that Jaskier could feel the heat radiating from Eskel's body and he shivered as the exposed skin of his throat was hit with hot puffs of air every time the witcher breathed. "I believe I wrote an essay on it, though I couldn't tell you the title of it."

"It might come back to you as you're reading. Would you like to give it a try?" Eskel asked innocently, but Jaskier was suddenly hit with a much better idea.

"I think it would help if you recited the poem first. So I can get a feel for the language again…" 

To be perfectly honest, Jaskier just wanted to hear Eskel’s Elder Speech. It was an utterly self-indulgent request. Something warm stirred in him at the thought of this mountain of a man reciting poetry. It was his unabashed curiosity which had moved him to boldly ask this favour of Eskel. The witcher did not seem at all concerned. "Very well." Eskel propped himself on one arm and in doing so leaned further into Jaskier's space. The witcher smelled faintly of cedarwood. In his deep grounding voice, silk over gravel, Eskel recited the verses. 

_ Yviss, m'evelien vent cáelm en tell,  _

_ Elaine Ettariel _

_ Aep cor me lode deith ess'viell _

_ Yn blath que me darienn _

_ Aen minne vain tegen a me yn toin av muireánn…  _

Jaskier did jot fail to notice the proficiency and ease with which the words rolled off Eskel's tongue. He did not rush through the verses as he appropriated the rhythm of the poem. Jaskier had rarely felt so entranced by a person's voice. The low rumble of Eskel's voice washed over Jaskier like a peaceful wave. 

"Your turn," Eskel announced, suddenly pulling Jaskier back to reality. 

"Huh?" It took Jaskier's braincells several seconds to catch up. "Oh, yes of course. Yviss, m'evelien vent cáelm en tell…" 

It didn't take Jaskier half as long as he would have expected to find his bearings, but hearing Eskel read poetry was too good an opportunity to pass up on. His Northern accent was still noticeable, but barely. Eskel was only a couple of lessons away from an impeccable pronunciation. It made Jaskier wonder when the witcher had found the time and energy to learn Elder Speech - and incidentally, if Eskel had ever learned any other languages. 

"I am impressed, my dear witcher," Jaskier told Eskel after going through their fifth poem together, "Very few know how to read poetry with such ease."

Eskel lowered his eyes and avoided Jaskier's gaze, but the latter could see the tip of Eskel's ears colour a lovely shade of pink at the compliment. 

"I enjoy the genre occasionally," Eskel admitted sheepishly, "I once met a young Elven healer who patched me up after a bad hunt. I was near delirious with fever when she found me. I would have nightmares from the concoctions she gave me, and when I did she would sing Elven poems to me."

"Fascinating." Book long forgotten, Jaskier gazed at Eskel like he was the sun. "Your pronunciation is near perfect…" 

"The witchers taught all the young boys some Elder Speech. I always had a knack for languages, I picked them up easier than most." Eskel managed a shy smile, clearly unsure how to respond to the compliment. "They had to teach me Common Speech when I got here as a boy, too."

"Oh, darling witcher," Jaskier shifted in his seat so he was facing Eskel properly, "you can't drop a bomb like this one and not indulge my curiosity. Where are you from originally?" 

"Have a guess, bardling."

A pleasant tingle ran down Jaskier's spine at the nickname. Bardling… He liked it a lot. 

"Hmm… alright. You're tall, tanned, dark hair… eye colour as a child?" Jaskier asked, pretending that it was all part of his investigation when in truth he was just curious to know. One of Eskel's dark eyebrows shot up at the question. 

"How is that relevant?" 

"Are you questioning my methods?" Jaskier bluffed, hoping he wasn't being too blunt. Eskel merely chuckled warmly. 

"I wouldn't dream of it. Brown."

"Tall, tanned, dark hair, brown eyes… I'm tempted to guess that you're from the south. Toussaint, perhaps…  _ oh- _ " Jaskier's mouth formed a perfect 'O' as a thought hit him, "you wouldn't be from Nilfgaard, would you?" 

"No, and no…," Eskel denied with a cheeky grin, "I didn't think you'd be able to guess. No one ever does. Much like you, they assume a southern origin because of my skin tone."

"Oh… well, don't leave me hanging! I give up. The suspense is killing me," Jaskier added for dramatic effect. 

"I was born in Skellige. On Ard Skellig."

Jaskier's eyes widened in surprise at the confession, just like Eskel had predicted. 

"Skellige? But… Oh, I would've never…  _ Skellige? _ And your parents were locals, too?" 

Eskel's grin widened, revealing even white teeth.  _ Gods _ , that man had the most heartwarming smile and yet he insisted to deprive the world of its light.  _ Get a grip, Jaskier.  _

"My mother was a druidess and my father a voyager. That is all I know of him. One time fling, he never knew my mother was pregnant when he left." 

"I'm sorry-" 

"Don't be," Eskel quickly interrupted him, "I never knew him. Vesemir was more of a father to me than that passing man could ever hope to be."

"Right, of course. Skellige… So you spoke a Skelligan jargon?" 

"I did. I still do, though not at ridiculous times of night," Eskel added when he noticed the excited glint in Jaskier's eyes. The latter visibly deflated in disappointment at being denied the pleasure of hearing Eskel speak in his childhood Skelligan. Maybe one day, Jaskier mused. 

"You know, dear Eskel, I came here to read this poetry book hoping to find inspiration for a new song. I went exploring the keep earlier today, you see. I found this room full of instruments, and I picked up a lute. The plan was to surprise all of you with a little performance at dinner, but… I do hope nobody will mind, but if they do I guess they can have it back. My talent seems to have forsaken me anyhow."

Eskel frowned at Jaskier's words; whether in confusion or something else was anyone's guess. Every witcher was seemingly hard to read with all the walls they built around their hearts to protect them from the world’s cruelty. Jaskier did not care at this point. 

"Is that why you were so quiet at dinner tonight?" 

"Was it that noticeable?" asked Jaskier, looking at Eskel warily through long eyelashes. The witcher shrugged. 

"I suppose it wasn't really. I could just tell. You were so vibrant and full of life earlier today, and then so solemn and quiet at dinner. It was clear something had upset you. I didn't think it was my place to ask." Jaskier smiled fondly at Eskel. Sweet, caring Eskel who looked out for everyone, even the strays he picked up on the way. Jaskier wondered who took care of Eskel when his burdens became too heavy to bear by himself? 

"You can always freely speak your mind around me, dearest witcher." 

Eskel briefly pondered those words. "I'll keep that in mind. Know then that you too can always freely speak your mind around me, bardling."

They fell in companionable silence after that, each quietly returning to their own book. Eskel did not bother moving the chair, content sitting in Jaskier's vicinity. The latter wouldn't have it any other way. 

__________

_ It's what my heart just yearns to say _

_ In ways that can't be said _

_ It's what my rotting bones will sing  _

_ When the rest of me is dead….  _

A bit gruesome, granted, but as Jaskier went over the verses he had just scribbled down he realised that he did not mind a morbid touch to his songs. It contrasted with the pristine Elven poetry Jaskier had read until sunrise, but perhaps it was not such a bad thing in the end. After all, life wasn't perfect no matter what the poets tried to tell the world. Jaskier had been one of those idealistic poets once, painting the world an unrealistic idylle of love, laughter and friendships. The real world was cruel, selfish, ruthless. A poet's job, Jaskier realised, was not to cover up the horrible and macabre, but to find the beauty in them. 

_ And he, he curses at the world _

_ For leaving him behind, and he's falling out of touch _

Jaskier's thoughts wandered back to Eskel and their conversation in the library. They had talked some more before sunrise; about literature, but also about politics, and their favourite foods, Eskel's most memorable contract, Jaskier's time at Oxenfurt. Eskel told the story of how he and Geralt used to be terrors as young boys, but they were Vesemir's favourites so they got away with it most of the time.  _ Boys will be boys _ . Jaskier told him about his childhood in Lettehove, growing up as a nobleman's son. In between conversations, the two of them would go back to reading several pages in their respective books and just enjoying each other's company. Eskel admitted that he hated the way people flinched away from him at the sight of his scars. How they smelled of fear around him. Jaskier then told Eskel that his father had forbidden him to show his face in Lettenhove ever again after catching Jaskier kissing the smithy's son in the stables. 

_ Oh how, oh how unreasonable,  _

_ I'll spend my days so close to you _

_ Cause if I'm standing here everybody will think I'm alright  _

In that instant, Jaskier found himself briefly wishing that he and Eskel had met in that delabrated inn in Posada instead of Geralt…. then immediately regretted his thoughts. No, Geralt was his friend and Jaskier was glad to have his friend back after five years apart. The twenty years on the Path with the white wolf had made Jaskier the man he was today. They had their ups and downs, but Jaskier did not regret meeting Geralt. And yet, he could not help but wonder if he could have spared himself the heartache by spending the last twenty or so years on the Path with Eskel. Destiny worked in mysterious ways, Jaskier thought, and she had plans for each and everyone of them. Rather than question Destiny, Jaskier should count himself lucky that he had happened upon Eskel when he had. 

Charming mysterious Eskel. Kind, sweet and gentle Eskel. Handsome and very fuckable Eskel….  _ Wait what?  _

_ Oh shit! _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some explanation (canon spoilers):
> 
> Elaine Ettariel is a song that Dandelion sings in the Witcher books to get access to Brokilon.
> 
> Eskel is a name derived from Old Norse (a language I'm studying currently). It's an adaptation of the word Ásketill/Áskæll composed of the words Áss (heathen god) and ketill (cauldron, often used in the sagas as a sacrificial item or a helmet). Ásketill can be translated as 'cauldron of the gods' or ' protected by the gods'. Hence why I picture Eskel coming from Skellige from a lineage of druids. Yes, you all have to suffer through my Old Norse skills because I don't know when else I will ever have use for the language. 
> 
> The lyrics are taken from the Amazing Devil's song 'Fair' (one of my personal favourites).


	9. Chapter 9 (NSFW)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week has been heckin' stressful for me, and undoubtedly for many of you as well with the holidays coming up. So here have the next chapter. THIS CHAPTER IS NSFW. If you don't want to read the (brief) explicit descriptions, you can skip from "Eskel woke up with a start..." to "... he slowly came down from his high."
> 
> I had to go over this chapter three times before I was happy with it. At this point I can't look at it anymore without convincing myself that it's shit, so I bit the bullet and posted it. 
> 
> Also, as i was writing my rat Loki stepped on my laptop and left everyone a little message:b5xssssssssssss\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\m,c08opppppppppppppo7ppppppppppp******o (he's telling everyone that you're amazing and that your ongoing support is very much appreciated.)

Eskel woke up with a start, his cheeks still flushed with the memory of his  _ very  _ vivid dream. It took the witcher another several seconds to register that his cock was straining against the constraints of his smallclothes. Eskel groaned deeply in his throat before mechanically reaching under the covers and stroking himself with rapid practiced movements. It was not that he did not take pleasure at his own hand, but nothing compared to being touched by another. His own touch had become predictable,  _ boring  _ even, but hell it was better than spending all day with a hard-on and risking the others noticing just how desperate he was. Eskel's eyes gently fluttered shut as he circled the head of his cock with his thumb, catching the first drops of precum in the process. He bit back a wanton groan as he rhythmically fisted his cock, allowing his mind to provide images of a lean but muscular body, of cornflour blue eyes and a mop of dark brown hair… the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth as Eskel bit down on his lips in a desperate effort to keep the volume down. He was told that he could be very loud in the bedroom and he wanted to spare himself the embarrassment. Snippets of his dream suddenly came back to him – a certain bard pinning him to the mattress and leaving a trail of kisses on his way down Eskel’s chest and abdomen, and  _ oh _ that talented tongue did wicked things to him. Eskel barely contained the broken whimper that pushed past his lips as he teased the tip of his cock with his thumb once again. Losing himself in the sensation of his fantasy, Eskel briefly lost control over his own mind and allowed a hushed ‘Jaskier’ to tumble past his lips. He came undone seconds later at the thought of Jaskier’s fingers circling his entrance. 

_ Fuck _ . How was he supposed to look Jaskier in the eye ever again after that? 

In his post-orgasmic haze, Eskel allowed himself to close his eyes and take several deep composing breaths as he slowly came down from his high. He knew he would have to get out of bed and join the others downstairs for breakfast and training eventually. Eskel sighed at the thought but willed himself to get out of bed and make himself presentable. He quickly threw on a white undershirt before reaching for the clean pair of black britches neatly folded on the chair near the hearth. When Eskel went to put on his worn leather boots he noticed that the left sole was coming off. Great. Eskel made a mental note to go hunting for boots after breakfast but his own ones would do for now. Satisfied with his outfit he made his way downstairs and followed the heavenly smell of freshly baked bread and mulled ale. Vesemir must have taken charge of breakfast that morning. It would certainly be a nice change from Geralt’s bland oats, Lambert’s burnt venison or Eskel’s watery porridge. When Vesemir cooked breakfast it was always a treat for the other witchers. Eskel could hardly wait to fill his stomach with hot bread rolls covered in jam. His stomach rumbled loudly in anticipation. 

Geralt and Ciri were already sitting at the breakfast table, together with Vesemir, Aiden and Lambert. Jaskier and Erica were yet to make an appearance. Eskel did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed that Jaskier had not joined them for breakfast yet. Deciding not to linger on that thought for too long, Eskel took a seat at the breakfast table and loaded his plate with bread, fresh fruit and cold meats. 

A feast worthy of kings. What was the old man up to? 

“I don’t trust it,” Lambert piped up as he licked the strawberry juice running down his fingers with gusto. Eskel looked away when he noticed the way Aiden’s eyes widened suggestively at the action. It was bad enough he had to endure  _ hearing  _ their passionate lovemaking most nights, he did not need to see it happen at the breakfast table as well. “Vesemir’s not usually so nice to us without an ulterior motive. Out with it, old man.”

“Lambert,” Geralt rasped in a warning tone, but that did not deter Lambert in the slightest. 

“Am I wrong?” the younger witcher questioned around a mouthful of cheese, directing his question at Vesemir who pointedly ignored him in favour of lathering a healthy amount of butter onto a crisp slice of bread. Lambert huffed at the dismissal. “Fine, keep your secrets. Your silence only confirms my suspicions.”

“Drop it, Lambert. Enjoy a treat when you’re given one,” Eskel advised in his infinite wisdom, unwilling to let the young pup spoil the good mood brought about by a delicious breakfast. Thankfully, Lambert did not press the matter so all were able to resume their breakfast in near reverential silence. The peace did not last half as long as Eskel would have wished. It was Vesemir who broke the silence, until then interrupted only by the sounds of content witchers copiously and greedily breaking their fast. 

“I just thought I'd let all of you know that I spotted Triss Merigold in Morhen valley this morning. She’ll be with us when evening breaks at the latest.”

_ Ah, there it was _ , thought Eskel. Out of the corner of his eyes he noticed Geralt tense and Lambert bristle at the announcement. Ciri, meanwhile, looked excited that they were expecting a guest, a female one at that. The outburst that Eskel had expected – from Geralt or Lambert, either was possible – was stalled by the arrival of Jaskier and Erica in the dining hall. It was unfortunate for the two latecomers to turn up at such an inopportune moment. Nobody truly acknowledged their presence until Erica unceremoniously plopped down next to Ciri on the bench and greeted her with a hug in her usual energetic fashion. Ciri indulged the younger girl’s display of affection and Eskel noticed the shadow of a smile playing on Ciri’s lips. Meanwhile, Jaskier decided to take a seat next to Eskel, but the latter had to work twice as hard that morning not to show just how much their thighs brushing against each other under the table affected him. 

“Why, good morning my dear witchers. And good morning to you as well, princess,” Jaskier added almost as an afterthought, earning him a contemptuous huff in response. 

“I am a  _ witcher _ , not a princess!” Ciri informed Jaskier haughtily, turning her nose up in a way befitting of a noble brat. It was easy to forget that Ciri was of royal blood when she was covered in bruises, grime and sweat from her training, or when she sneakily helped herself to Geralt’s ale at dinner when she thought he wouldn’t notice. He always did notice, all of them did, but Eskel knew Geralt turned a blind eye more often than not. However, whenever Ciri used  _ that _ tone of voice, the one that demanded respect and oozed with authority, her heritage became undeniable. Eskel had only met Queen Calanthe once in his life when working an endrega contract at her request in Cintra. Even he could not deny that the lion cub of Cintra took after her grandmother in many more ways than one. Eskel saw the same fire burning in the young girl’s eyes and the same stubborn determination in her quest to achieve every goal she set herself, no matter how big or small. 

“Of course, my mistake,” Jaskier apologised, “forgive me, young witcher.”

“You call yourself a witcher? That’s rich,” Lambert piped up teasingly, “You’re hardly a witcher yet, but I’ll make one out of you soon enough. Don’t expect any sympathy from me at training today.”

Eskel was not sure who Lambert was trying to fool – everybody knew that the very reason Ciri preferred training with him was because Lambert was the softest out of them all. Although he was a prick most of the time, Eskel was well aware that Lambert's life had never been easy. Beaten by a drunk and aggressive father, being forced to leave his mother behind when Vesemir dragged him to Kaer Morhen only to be taught by Varin, who on many occasions proved to be just as cruel as Lambert's father. Things had never been easy for the youngest witcher but rather than turn like his father or like Varin, Lambert had made a promise to himself never to be cruel to children. Lambert had a soft spot for Ciri and everyone at Kaer Morhen knew it. 

“Yeah, right,” Ciri countered confidently, “I’ll beat your ass with a hand tied behind my back!”

Lambert let out a derisive snort.

“Big words and nothing to back them up with. Don't get cocky, princess!”

“Well  _ I’ll  _ beat your ass, too!” Erica declared loudly between two mouthfuls, a toothy grin illuminating her face as she came to Ciri's rescue. Lambert could not hide his amusement at Erica's challenge while Jaskier looked halfway between shocked and mortified at his daughter’s use of colourful language. 

“Alright, that’s quite enough goading each other at the breakfast table,” Vesemir barked in an authoritarian tone, his next words spoken in a way that did not leave room for argument, “and I sincerely hope that all of you will show better manners when our guest arrives this evening. Especially you, Lambert!”

“Why ‘especially’ me?” Lambert questioned moodily, “I  _ am  _ well-mannered!”

"Really? Why have you kept that aspect of your personality hidden from us for the past 60 years?” Geralt enquired sarcastically. Aiden hid his amused smirk behind his tankard of ale when Lambert flung a grape at Geralt's head in retaliation. Geralt pursed his lips and rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, very mature Lamby.”

“Call me that one more time and it won’t be a grape to the head but a kick in the fucking nu-“

“Enough!” Vesemir roared, effectively ending Lambert and Geralt’s bickering before Lambert could finish his threat. A frustrated sigh pushed past the old witcher’s lips. “You two exhaust me. Lead by example, would you, or run the walls for the rest of winter and all the ones to follow!”

Vesemir’s words were followed by a welcomed, albeit far too brief, silence. Just when Eskel thought he would get to enjoy the rest of his breakfast in peace, Geralt muttered under his breath:

“ _ Aiden  _ gets to call him Lamby, but  _ we  _ don’t. If you kept the bedroom noises down I wouldn’t find out about your secret nicknames.”

That time, an apple hit Geralt square in the head which pulled a pained groan from the white wolf. Ciri and Erica had a hard time stifling their giggles. Vesemir, on the other hand, did not have any energy left to tell Lambert off and simply left the dining hall with vague instructions for people to get ready for training. 

__________

Eskel and Geralt were left in charge of cleaning the dishes and tidying up the kitchen while Lambert, Aiden and the girls were getting ready for training. Geralt was clearly in no mood to talk so Eskel left him to brood in his own corner. Geralt aggressively wiped the dishes that Eskel handed to him, occasionally letting out an irritated huff or two, but Eskel mostly ignored him. He knew better than to ask his brother what was bothering him. Knowing Geralt, the  _ world  _ was bothering him, and any problem that would not go away by swinging a sword at it was not worth addressing anyway. The best course of action was always to let Geralt take things at his own pace. It had always been this way since Eskel and Geralt were boys – press Geralt too hard and he would crawl back into his shell and not come out for days, sometimes weeks. Thankfully, Eskel was a very patient man. 

They finished cleaning the dishes and tidying the mess Vesemir had left for them in the kitchen in silence (another catch whenever Vesemir cooked breakfast for them – the old man hated doing the dishes or cleaning up after himself). It did not take Geralt long to come around and face Eskel with that constipated look he got whenever he debated discussing his feelings with another human being. 

“Can I ask you a question? I want your honest opinion,” Geralt said, his tone strained like getting those words out was physically painful.

“Always, wolf,” Eskel reassured him softly. Acknowledging Geralt's weakness in that moment would spook him and send him running for the hills. That, too, had  _ literally  _ happened before. So Eskel did his best not to sound condescending or make it seem like he  _ pitied _ Geralt in any way. 

“Do you agree with Vesemir about getting Triss involved?” 

Eskel had expected that awkward conversation, although admittedly he had hoped for it to happen later rather than sooner. He carefully pondered his next words. Eskel was known for overthinking things too much and thinking himself around in circles, but sometimes this was a very useful skill when it came to formulating a diplomatic response to a very difficult question. And it  _ was  _ a difficult one, because Geralt naturally expected Eskel to be on his side, but Eskel was nothing if not relieved that Vesemir had called upon Triss Merigold.  _ Anyone  _ would do a better job at helping Ciri through her seizures at this point. What Ciri was going through was beyond any of their skills or expertise. Who knew how long they could keep doing what they were doing without hurting her? 

“I agree with Vesemir that we need help,” Eskel finally admitted, and noticing Geralt’s crestfallen expression, he quickly added, “and I would rather that help came from someone we know and trust, that it came from a friend. We’ve known Triss for a while, Geralt. Do you really think she’s the type to harm a child?”

“What if our definitions of ‘harming a child’ are different to hers?” Geralt countered firmly. Eskel bit back a sigh.

“I think there’s a universal understanding of what ‘not harming a child’ implies,” his voice grew sterner as he aimed to ground Geralt and stop his brother from spiralling too far into his own mind, “perhaps Aretuza is not what it used to be. Perhaps Yennefer’s experience was one of a kind. She came out of there as one of the most powerful sorceresses on the Continent.”

“Growing up in Aretuza harmed Yen more than she cares to admit. If Triss sends Ciri there, the girl will be denied a childhood!”

“Ciri was denied a childhood the day she was born into the royal family of Cintra,” Eskel reasoned calmly, “besides, what do we know about giving her a chance at a happy childhood? None of us even knows what a happy childhood is supposed to look like. Most of us were either beaten, abandoned, neglected or ignored until we came here. And even then, the beating and neglect did not stop once you stepped into Kaer Morhen. How often did Varin discipline us with his belt? How often did we go to bed hungry because the older witchers underestimated the number of new recruits and prioritised the fragile and younger boys?”

Geralt did not respond. As Eskel spoke, he could see the other man’s face fall as the unpleasant memories were brought up. It pained Eskel to revisit a painful past as much as it pained Geralt to relive, but it was the nudge that the latter needed. An awkward silence stretched between them and for a minute, Eskel thought he may have pushed Geralt too far. 

“How would you feel if it was your child surprise that was being taken away?” There was no anger or accusation in Geralt's tone, only uncertainty. Eskel’s jaw tensed at the question.

“You know I’m not the right person to ask. I failed to make these kinds of decisions with Deirdre and look how that ended.”

“Eskel please, try to put yourself in my place!” Geralt demanded, his tone just on that side of irritated. 

“I told you what I think, Geralt. I think we should give Triss a chance because none of us have a clue how to handle this situation. If taking her to Aretuza will save Ciri’s life, then why would you even consider not going ahead with that plan?”

“Because I don’t want Ciri to turn out like one of them!” Geralt finally snapped. Eskel swallowed thickly at the revelation but remained silent. Now was not the time to interrupt. The floodgates opened now that they had struck that sensitive nerve. “I don’t want Ciri to grow up and become one of those shallow and manipulative sorceresses who treats everyone as a pawn in some kind of political game or other. I don’t want those hags at Aretuza to take advantage of her and her powers. We don’t know what Ciri is capable of. She's just a child. A young, gullible child. Who knows what the Council of Mages has in store for ‘exceptional’ pupils like her? I don’t want her to be like…”

The last of Geralt's sentence was left hanging in the air between them, but Eskel understood him loud and clear. 

“Like Yen?” 

“Yen, Triss, Keira Metz, Sabrina Glessevig, Phillipa Eilhart… you name them.”

“You want my honest opinion, yes? If you're so concerned, I think you need to speak to Yen. About Ciri.”

“Excuse me? Did you not just hear what I said?” 

“I don't like the idea either. You know I don't trust Yen as far as I can throw her, but if she was so traumatised by Aretuza then maybe that made her weary of the Council of Mages. Triss is loyal, but Yen is not like Triss. Yen might offer to tutor Ciri herself. She  _ is  _ one of the most powerful sorceresses we know. And she  _ is  _ very full of herself when it comes to her abilities.  _ And  _ you trust her more than you trust Triss.” 

“What's to say that Yen will agree, especially if she finds out that we asked Triss before we asked her?”

“Let’s cross that bridge when we get there, shall we?” Eskel suggested softly before putting away the last of the clean dishes. Je let Geralt ponder his words silently for a while, eyebrows set in a deep frown. Eskel noticed the twitching in Geralt’s jaw muscle and the balled fists. He was tense. Eskel could not remember the last time he had seen Geralt so indecisive. 

“I have another idea, but I know that Ciri won't like it.”

__________

Eskel and Lambert ended up training together while Geralt coached Ciri on the pendulum and Aiden went over the basics of sword combat with Erica. During the first round, Eskel and Lambert decided to use their swords to hone their physical fighting skills. Eskel especially found himself relying on his strong signs far too much on the Path, which was both mentally and physically taxing. Some physically conditioning couldn't hurt. Lambert won that round, more nimble and agile than Eskel could ever hope to be. Aiden probably taught him a thing or two as well. In the second round they focused on using signs and unsurprisingly Eskel claimed the victory, though not by much. The third round ended with Eskel deflecting Lambert's Aard with a last-minute Quen before tackling the younger witcher to the ground and trapping him between his strong legs, using his superior strength to his advantage. Lambert hissed at Eskel as the latter flashed him a triumphant grin. 

"Get off me you big lump. Gods, you're heavy!" Lambert complained as he tried to wriggle free. 

"What do you say?" Eskel teased, his grin growing wider and tugging at his scars. 

"Fuck you, you giant heavy prick!" 

"Nah-uh, that won't get you anywhere pup." Lambert squirmed more earnestly this time and were it not for Eskel's quick reflexes, the younger witcher would have landed a well-placed knee to Eskel's crotch. "Come on now, what's the magic word?" 

"Bite me!" 

Eskel was so busy tormenting Lambert that he failed to notice Geralt and Ciri creeping up on him from behind. Ciri jumping on his back and trying with all her might to pull him off Lambert took him by surprise long enough for Lambert to free one of his legs from under Eskel and wrap it around the broader witcher's hips. This position gave Lambert enough momentum to roll onto his side, taking Eskel down with him. Geralt was quick to join the scuffle, not one to be left out, and helped Ciri and Lambert pin Eskel to the ground. It took all three of them to keep Eskel down and even though he could've mustered the strength to get rid of his assailants, Eskel felt like Ciri could use the win. 

He tapped out, to Ciri's exhilaration. 

"Take that!" she cried out before high-fiving Lambert and Geralt. Eskel got onto his feet and dusted himself off before letting out a dramatic sigh. 

"Yes, little witcher, you won. You're getting faster and you move nearly as quietly as a witcher now. Doesn't mean I'll go easy on you tomorrow when I take over your training, though." 

Even the threat of an intense training could not spoil Ciri's mood after beating Eskel. The girl diligently trotted back to the pendulum at Geralt's request, looking mighty pleased with herself. Eskel allowed it. These moments of respite were necessary sometimes to break the monotony of a witcher's life, and Ciri  _ was _ just a child after all. These scuffles also served to boost her confidence. Lambert clapped Eskel on the shoulder - a sign that there was no bad blood between them despite their wrestling match. Eskel returned the gesture before picking up his sword and inspecting it for scratches. Vesemir would've had something to say about the way Eskel carelessly discarded his weapon, but what the old man didn't see couldn't hurt him. 

Eskel and Lambert decided to take a quick break. Meanwhile, Aiden and Erica had seemingly remained utterly oblivious to the collective attack launched on Eskel mere minutes earlier. Eskel watched as Aiden corrected Erica's stance and with a gentleness Eskel didn't think any witcher capable of Aiden maneuvered Erica's arm diagonally down to the left and diagonally up to the right once again. They repeated the action twice more before Aiden stepped away and let her practice by herself. 

"He's really good with her," Eskel remarked to Lambert. The younger witcher huffed at the comment and came to stand near Eskel so he had a better view of Aiden. 

"Yeah. He's always been good with kids from the day we met."

"Hm. Did he train the young recruits at Stygga?" 

"Why don't you ask him yourself? He doesn't bite and it wouldn't hurt you to be a little friendlier." Lambert did not take his eyes off Aiden and Erica, but Eskel could hear the accusation in the younger witcher's tone. 

"Just making conversation, Lambert. Didn't mean to rehash that argument again."

"Just making conversation, eh? Well let me tell you a little anecdote then," Lambert turned around so he faced Eskel, arms crossed before his chest and eyebrows set in a deep frown, "you wanna know how Aiden got injured? He jumped in front of that fucking wraith to save my life. The idiot wasn't even supposed to be there. We were supposed to work the contract together, but the alderman refused to pay two of us. I said I could handle a wraith on my own and left, but Aiden just had to follow me, didn’t he? Lucky he did too, or else I wouldn’t be standing here lecturing you about why you’re being such a fucking prick! ”

Eskel let his eyes wander back to Aiden and Erica as he processed this new information. At first he could not tell if Lambert was making this up just so Eskel would apologise to Aiden, but there was something in the younger witcher’s tone that Eskel had not heard in a long time. Genuine concern for another human being’s life. It would certainly explain all the fussing and Lambert's stubborn insistence that Aiden take things slow for a while. Lambert felt responsible for Aiden’s injury. He felt guilty. 

“Why are you mentioning this to me now?” 

“Because I’m tired of you, Geralt and Vesemir treating him like he’s some kind of monster. He would literally die to save me, and yet you three keep acting like he’s the worst thing that ever happened to me. He didn’t want you to know, but this is probably the only way you guys will respect him."

“I had no idea, Lamb. I’m sorry.” Eskel said, unable to meet Lambert’s gaze as he spoke. 

“It’s not me you should be apologising to." Lambert pinched the bridge of his nose and heaved a resigned sigh. "Ah, who am I kidding, you’ll do whatever you want. Just stop giving him a hard time, okay? I’m not asking you guys to become best friends but at least make him feel welcome here. This is the closest place he has to a home and every time he’s here he's made to feel like he doesn’t belong. He's a witcher, a mutant, an outcast, just like you and me. He's one of us. So all of you can get off your fucking high horses." Lambert cast one last look at Aiden and Erica, his eyes softening at the sight of the two laughing together. Finally tearing his eyes from the scene before them, Lambert announced: “Anyway. Not to break the mood but I’m heading for the hot springs because I can smell myself and it’s gross."

“Your words, not mine,” Eskel teased, earning himself a playful punch in the shoulder. “See you around, pup.”

Eskel waited until Lambert disappeared into the keep before making his way towards Aiden and Erica. Lambert was right, they had all been dicks to the Cat witcher. Eskel wondered how many times Aiden had tried to prove himself a worthy ally and his efforts had gone straight over their heads. Could Lambert really blame his brothers and Vesemir for being concerned about Aiden's intentions, though? Cat witchers had a reputation as cold-blooded assassins, after all. Eskel, Geralt and Vesemir had every right to be concerned. Lambert was family and they would always have his back. Jaskier’s words from a couple of weeks ago came back to mind.  _ Aiden isn’t like that.  _ Eskel watched Aiden crouch before Erica and ruffle her hair affectionately, and when she hugged him, he pulled her closer and returned the embrace like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

Maybe Jaskier was right about Aiden being different, and if so, then Lambert was definitely right about Aiden deserving an apology. 

“Eskel!” Erica cried out when she caught sight of him before waving at him energetically. Eskel raised his hand in a shy response, a small smile gracing his scarred lips at the girl’s enthusiastic greeting. “Did you see how well I’m holding my sword today? Aiden says it’s a lot better than yesterday.”

“It looks good, little one,” Eskel praised her, and he meant it. The child was learning the basics fast and soon they could get her started on simple attack combinations. Erica beamed at the praise. 

“Aiden said that he’ll let me go see the horses before I go get washed up. Do you want to come with us?” she asked sweetly, making it very difficult for Eskel to refuse. He had only come all this way to have a chat with Aiden, but Erica's big blue eyes and protruding lower lip won him over. That child had no idea how powerful her persuasion skills were. She had him wrapped around her little finger. Nobody needed to know. 

“Sure, sweet girl. If that’s alright with you, Aiden.”

The Cat witcher eyed Eskel suspiciously, but did not object to his presence. As a matter of fact, Aiden did not really utter a single word to Eskel as they walked with Erica to the stables, content to let the girl fill the uncomfortable silence with her excited chatter. They reached the stables quickly and Aiden gathered Erica in his arms to help her reach the horses more easily. Scorpion nickered in greeting upon seeing Eskel and was rewarded with a quick scratch behind his ear. The stallion sniffed at Eskel’s pockets hoping to find treats there, huffing in disappointment when he realised his owner had come to visit him empty-handed. 

“Eskel, can I pet Scorpion?” 

“Of course little one,” Eskel agreed and judging by the disappointed look in his eyes, Aiden only reluctantly let go of the girl. Erica ran into Eskel’s arms, who caught her easily and propped her on his hip so she could reach out and touch Scorpion’s nose. The stallion sniffed her hand curiously, but patiently allowed Erica to card her fingers through his mane. Aiden stayed at a safe distance from Eskel, staring at anything but him and Erica. Eskel could not remember the last time he had felt so uncomfortable around another witcher. “Little one, do you remember your way to the kitchen from here?” 

“Yes,” Erica answered absent-mindedly as she gently tapped Scorpion’s forehead.

“I left some honeycomb in a trunk near the hearth. If you go there and wait for me, I’ll give you a piece.”

Erica’s eyes widened at the offer and she instantly squirmed to be put down. The girl bolted in the direction of the keep as soon as Eskel lowered her to the ground. Once she was out of earshot, Eskel turned around to face Aiden. 

"Are we not following the kid?" Aiden questioned suspiciously. 

"Soon. I just wanted to talk to you in private. I want to apologise."

Aiden's eyes went impossibly wide at those words. He mutely stared at Eskel, who was beginning to feel uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the Cat witcher's gaze. His scars were itching, but Eskel resisted the urge to rub them. Just because he was apologising to Aiden didn't mean he had to look vulnerable in front of him. 

"Beg your pardon?" 

"Lambert told me that you were injured trying to save his life. He made me realise that we've been treating you unfairly. You deserve an apology from all of us."

Aiden silently appraised Eskel for a while before letting out an irritated huff and rolling his eyes. Eskel frowned at the reaction. 

"He wasn't supposed to tell you. Don't feel obliged to apologise, Eskel. I didn't save Lambert's life to get your approval." 

"I didn't think that at all," Eskel assured him, "You clearly care about him. You were ready to lay down your life for him. For that, you have my respect. I see now that I misjudged you and couldn't see past my own prejudices and for that I apologise. That's all I wanted to say."

Eskel did not wait for Aiden's response. Hopefully Eskel's apology to Aiden had cleared the air or at least would allow them to get a fresh start. Only time would tell. He headed towards the keep after Erica, wondering if the little mischief had already found the stash of honeycomb and helped herself to some. He wouldn't blame her if she had - the gods knew that he and Geralt had stolen worse from Varin's secret pantry when they were young boys. Eskel was halfway to the keep when he heard the sound of Aiden running up to him. The Cat witcher caught up with Eskel and fell into step with him. 

"I appreciate your apology," Aiden told him earnestly, "I just need to ask. You didn't just do it to please Lambert? Because if that's the case, then you don't have to-" 

"I know. You and I both want Lambert to be happy. At least we have that in common."

"That we can agree on," said Aiden. The shadow of a smile appeared on the other witcher’s lips. “In any case, I appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it,” Eskel assured him as they both stepped into the keep, “if you hurt Lambert in any way, I  _ will  _ hunt you down.”

“Aw, caring big brother Eskel. That's cute,” Aiden teased. 

“Oh, there you are,” Geralt suddenly walked up to Aiden and Eskel, looking agitated, “Triss has arrived. Ciri went to meet her outside the gates, it gave me time to tell Vesemir. Follow me!”

Lambert appeared behind Geralt, hair still damp from his bath and judging by the sullen look on his face, his relaxing afternoon had been rudely interrupted by a certain white-haired witcher and the unwelcome news that Triss Merigold had finally reached Kaer Morhen. Eskel noticed movement out of the corner of his eyes; Erica was creeping up to him, looking at the witchers gathered in the hall with uncertainty. The sudden commotion must have caught her attention and distracted her from her hunt for honeycomb in the kitchen. Eskel smiled at her reassuringly and waved Erica over. The girl did not have to be told twice. She was at his side within seconds. 

“Where’s your father, little one?” he asked her softly, crouching before her so they were at eye-level. Erica shrugged her shoulders. 

“He said he had to help Vesemir when I’m training. I don’t know where he is, though.”

“Don’t worry, sweet girl. Just say close to me and you’ll be just fine. Let’s go greet our guest and after we’ll go get you the honeycomb I promised you.”

Erica nodded in assent and as soon as Eskel had risen to his full height, her little hand sought his as she pressed her tiny body to his leg. It made walking into the courtyard difficult, but Eskel endured it because how could he not when his heart was melting into a gooey puddle in his chest? He gently squeezed the girl’s hand as they joined the others in the courtyard. 

000

The witchers’ welcome was not the warmest Triss could have expected. They appeared out of the shadows and silently circled her, a habit that was difficult to shake after years of training and walking the Path. All of them stood with their arms crossed before their chests and with their weights on their left legs – a position from which they could attack in a fraction of a second, if need be. Eskel noticed that Ciri had mirrored their position. They had taught her well. Erica, on the other hand, was hiding behind Eskel’s much larger frame and was peeking at Triss from behind his legs. 

“Welcome to Kaer Morhen, Triss.”

“Greetings, Geralt.”

Both their tones were slightly off Eskel noticed. Geralt’s greeting was tense, and Triss’ reply bitter. There was history between them, and clearly not all of it was water under the bridge. That was a can of worms that Eskel did not want to open if he could avoid it. He cast a look over his shoulder and looked down at Erica, who was the most silent he had seen her since the day he met her and Jaskier in Ard Carraigh. When the girl looked up with insecurity reflected in her innocent blue eyes, Eskel merely winked and flashed her a quick smile.  _ There’s nothing to worry about, little one. I’ve gotcha.  _

“Welcome,” Geralt repeated, “we are glad you’ve come.”

A bare-faced lie, Eskel knew, but it was probably best that Triss did not know about Geralt’s inner conundrum. Eskel anticipated the awkward silence that would inevitably follow his brother’s cool greeting by stepping up to Triss and taking care not to trip up Erica who was still clutching the fabric of his britches in her fist. 

“Mostly glad,” Lambert remarked snidely before Eskel managed to get a word in, earning himself an elbow to the ribs from Aiden and a glare that could melt the snow off the highest peaks of the Blue Mountains from Triss. Lambert did not let that deter him. “Good afternoon, Merigold. See, I even cleaned up nice for you.”

“You didn’t have to go through all that trouble for me, Lambert,” Triss retorted coldly, “I would hate to be the reason that you had to push up your monthly bath and upset your routine.”

“Welcome, and come in,” Eskel interrupted before the situation could escalate and leaving Aiden to restrain Lambert, “it is as cold and blistery as if someone had hung themselves.”

“Greetings, Eskel. And who might you be, sweetheart?” Triss asked in a softer voice, her eyes dropping to where Erica was hiding behind Eskel. The girl cowered at being addressed directly, her eyes meeting Eskel’s in reassurance. He nodded at her and gently nudged her forward. 

“Your father wouldn’t want you to forget your manners, little one.”

Erica stepped forward shyly and introduced herself in a small voice. Triss smiled warmly, but there was something else etched in that expression, something Eskel could not quite place. The sorceress went down on one knee and coursed her fingers through Erica’s long dark locks. 

“You have gorgeous hair, Erica. My name is Triss. It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Thank you. Yours is pretty, too,” Erica replied politely. Triss’ smile widened at the girl’s compliment. 

“Why, thank you. You’re very well behaved.” Triss rose to her feet and addressed her next words at the rest of them. “You certainly haven't learned your manners from Lambert, that's for certain.”

"Merigold, you can kiss-" 

"Drop it, Lambert," Eskel barked at the youngest witcher, "stop rising to the bait.“

"I’ll take your horses,” Geralt offered, reaching for the reins. Eskel did not fail to notice the way Triss’ hand moved in surreptitiously so that hers and Geralt’s fingers grazed. This was going to be an interesting visit. 

“I’ll go with you,” she said naturally, “there are a few little things in the saddle bags that I need.”

Triss and Geralt disappeared in the direction of the stables, leaving all of them behind. Lambert let out an undignified snort as he turned his back on them and pushed past Aiden to head back to the keep. The Cat witcher did not try to hold him back, instead following his lover at a distance. Ciri watched Geralt leave with Triss and her horse, a confused look plastered on her face. 

“Is something wrong, Ciri?” Eskel asked, cocking his head to the side as he watched the young girl closely. Ciri’s eyes met Eskel’s hesitantly. Concern was evident in the way her voice quivered as she spoke. 

“I think… I fell asleep when Triss and I were riding the trail up. I… I think she saw… heard…”

Eskel frowned at Ciri’s words, but before he could question her further his sensitive ears picked up the sound of footfall coming from the keep. He could make out Vesemir and Jaskier heading their way. Erica left Eskel’s side as soon as she recognised her father in the distance. Eskel could not blame her, but his hand felt unusually cold now that Erica was not near him seeking his safety and reassurance. 

“Is she here already?” Vesemir questioned once he was close enough to Eskel. The latter nodded. “How did Geralt react?” 

“In his usual manner. He's conflicted,” said Eskel. Vesemir sighed. 

“Guess I better go greet our guest.”

Ciri let out a relieved breath when Vesemir was out of earshot. 

“Don’t worry, Ciri,” Eskel told her in a calm voice, “Triss is a friend. You can trust her.”

“What if she-“

“She’s a friend, Ciri,” Eskel insisted, “trust me. Geralt wouldn’t let anyone near you if he was concerned they might hurt you. And neither would we.”

“… but Eskel kept me safe, daddy,” the witcher made out Erica’s voice in the distance as she and Jaskier walked towards them. 

“I’m glad he did dear heart,” Jaskier responded. When the bard looked up, his and Eskel’s gazes met for a short time-altering moment. Jaskier and Erica’s toothy smiles directed at Eskel made his insides twist in all the right ways. “Thank you for keeping an eye on her, my kind witcher.”

“Don’t mention it, Jaskier. Ciri! Where do you think you’re going? Don’t let me catch you snooping. Off you go, go bathe before supper.”

Supper proved to be more eventful than Eskel expected. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed this chapter. I wish everyone very happy holidays <3


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello everyone! I hope you all had a nice Christmas, or a nice holiday for those of you don't celebrate Christmas. 
> 
> I am back with a new chapter. Here I probably should say that I'm following parts of the plot of the books (Blood of Elves, when Triss comes to Kaer Morhen) and borrowed some of the dialogue (though I rephrased most of it). I'm doing this 1) to give the impression that I actually know my stuff and 2) because I have plans for what needs to happen next and well, it made sense to follow part of the plot in the books for that. Enough said.
> 
> That being said, I will tag for spoilers for those of you who don't want to read spoilers. Sorry about that! I won't be mad if you don't read this chapter to avoid spoilers :)
> 
> I love this chapter so. much. I hope you guys love it, too.

“Hell and bloody damnation! Pox, plague, shit and leprosy! I’m going to kill those cursed idiots!’

Those words, shouted at the top of Triss’ lungs, resonated through Kaer Morhen later that evening as everyone was getting ready for their supper. Little did they know just how much they would come to rue the day Vesemir invited Triss Merigold to stay at Kaer Morhen.

__________

“Calm down, Merigold,” Lambert urged in a tone that suggested he would rather Triss packed up her things and left the keep _yesterday_ , “it does you no good to get worked up over so little.”

“Shut your arrogant trap, Lambert,” Triss snapped viciously, “and stop calling me Merigold like I’m worth nothing more than the dirt on your boots. In fact, do all of us a favour and spare us your stupidity by not talking altogether!”

“There’s no need for insults,” Aiden piped up, a dangerous edge to his tone as he glared at Triss. The sorceress had no trouble holding the Cat witcher’s gaze as they appraised each other from across the room. “You’ve thrown quite a few around since you stormed in here. Care to tell us what it’s all about?”

“Oh, I’ll tell you! Don’t you worry about that. Vesemir, Geralt! Have you seen how bruised and battered Ciri is?” Triss turned her gaze to the concerned men, her eyes flickering between them ominously.

“Dear child, watch your temper. Bruises are nothing new to Ciri. She learned to ride a horse at the age of five. Even though she grew up in a royal house, life at the Cintran court is no walk in the park. Eist Tuirseach taught her the basis of combat by sword. Her grandmother Queen Calanthe won her first battle at age fifteen. Ciri is tougher than you give her credit for, Triss. These aren’t her first, nor her last bruises!”

“Spare me, Vesemir!” Triss argued hotly, “and don’t play the fool, it doesn’t fit a man of your stature! You and I both know that this is Kaer Morhen and not Cintra. Young boys have broken bones on your pendulums and other nonsense! Or have I perhaps got this wrong? That little one is still fragile. Delicate bones, easily broken. She’s a girl, for the love of the gods! You truly expect to make a witcher out of her? A witcheress, perhaps? Don’t make me laugh, Vesemir. How well did those experiments turn out in the past?”

“This fragile, petite girl you’re talking about,” Geralt stated calmly and quietly, “this delicate princess survived the worst tragedies a girl her age should not even be dreaming of. She watched her home, her people, her friends and family be massacred as she slipped through Nilfgaard’s fingers. She survived in the wild of her own devices, managed to escape those who were looking for her high and low, she found me – trust me, Triss, life has hardened that delicate little princess plenty already.”

“We assure you we don’t intend to turn her into a witcher, not in the conventional sense,” Vesemir added, but his words did nothing to appease Triss’ ire, “we won’t administer the mutagens in her system, but we can prepare her for life out there as best as we can. It won't harm her to know how to defend herself and use a sword. What difference does her gender make?”

“What difference?” Triss spluttered in disbelief, allowing her rage to get the better of her, “it makes ALL the difference in the world, you senseless oafs! Don’t think I don’t know about that concoction you make her drink, the one grown witchers use to build muscle quicker. A child! She’s a child! The girl has her days and is handling them exceptionally badly! You’re forcing her to take her lungs out on the killer and on that cursed windmill without considering how this might affect her and her health.”

The sheepish expression on the witchers’ faces was priceless and were the circumstances different Triss may have gloated at her victory. She did not feel like gloating, however, because there was a very distressed little girl upstairs trying to make sense of the changes in her body and the only support she was getting came from oblivious men who looked about ready to burst with embarrassment. Vesemir’s jaw went slack with surprise, which merely added to Triss’ frustration.

“You didn’t even know, did you?” It was a statement rather than a question. “All of you are pathetic excuses for guardians. She didn’t tell _any_ of you because she was taught not to voice her complaints to men. She’s _ashamed_ of the pain, the weakness and the lack of physical prowess. Because _you all_ make it sound like a moment of weakness will instantly kill you. Bloody fools! Cursed morons. Have you got _any_ idea how this girl feels? How inadequate your incompetence has left her feeling? For all you know she’s cried herself to sleep on her first bleeding because she felt like nobody would understand or console her. You should all be ashamed of yourselves.”

“Enough, Triss,” Geralt moaned in a genuinely pained voice, “you’ve made your point.”

“Yes, you have,” Aiden piped up, looking awfully small even though he was at least a head and a half taller than Triss, “and there’s no two ways about it, we’ve all been idiots. We should’ve known, or at least anticipated that her body would be going through changes.”

“Indeed, you should’ve.”

Eskel looked the most embarrassed of them all, and perhaps the most pained at being called incompetent. He stepped up to Triss, bent down low and carefully took her hand in his. He kissed the back of the enchantress’ hand respectfully. Triss shivered at the piercing vibrations emanating from Eskel’s hands. He was the strongest in magic out of all of them. She tried to hide how pleasant the touch felt to her by retracting her hand swiftly.

“Triss,” he began, rubbing his scars nervously, “please Triss, help us. We need your help.”

She met his golden eyes briefly and noticing the genuine distress reflected in them, she let out a small breath and made a conscious effort to soften her features.

“With what, Eskel? How should I help you?”

Eskel swallowed thickly and his eyes instantly came to rest on Geralt, who was doing his very best to look anywhere but at Triss. Lambert and Aiden were admiring their shoes intently while Vesemir shifted from one heavy foot to the other, clearing his throat as if he was about to offer an explanation. The door creaked open in that moment, right before Ciri stepped into the dining hall. She was wearing a dress, which in itself made all the witchers in the room gawk, but the confidence with which she strutted up to Vesemir was what brought a smile to Triss’ lips. Ciri planted herself in front of the oldest witcher and took a composing breath, puffing out her chest as she addressed him.

“I am-,“ the girl deflated ever so slightly when she noticed Vesemir’s stern eyes on her. Ciri glanced over her shoulder at Triss, who winked at her in encouragement. The girl then met Vesemir’s gaze once again before announcing loudly and proudly, “I am indisposed!”

To Triss’ surprise it was Eskel, sweet gentle Eskel, who stepped up to the girl and acted as the situation befitted.

“Of course,” he smiled compassionately as he spoke to the girl, “we understand. And naturally you’re exempt from training until you feel better. If you need any medications or-“

“I shall take care of that. Wouldn’t want you to feed her one of your weird concoctions unsuitable for a child her age or her condition.”

“Uncle Vesemir?” Ciri spoke once again in her honey-sweet tone, the one she used to get her way, “I asked Triss, that is Miss Merigold, to stay with us longer. She said you’re the master here and you need to agree to her staying. Please can she stay, please?”

“Of course,” Vesemir wheezed as if dazed by what had just occurred.

“We would love for you to stay, Triss,” Geralt said, looking awfully relieved now that _that_ conversation was out of the way, “thank you for your help.”

“For those among you that are a bit slow to catch on,” Triss did not miss the way Vesemir’s eyes instantly darted to Geralt and Lambert, “when Ciri wears a dress, I don’t want to see her outside exercising. Understood?”

None of the witchers could remember a day that was quite as embarrassing as when Triss Merigold educated them on female menstruation and for the years to come that moment would stick with them and make them cringe at the most inopportune moments.

__________

“I can’t believe you didn’t know Ciri had gone through these changes,” Jaskier guffawed after Eskel had finished telling the story, “truly, _none_ of you were aware that women go through this cycle each month?”

“Of course, we knew!” Eskel defended himself, “Well, _I_ knew. Admittedly not thanks to anyone ever telling me growing up, but – I, uh, there was this one worker at a brothel when I first started travelling the path and, well she – she was awfully embarrassed about it, but when she realised that I didn’t have a clue what was going on it cheered her up. I don’t think I’ll ever get over the shame of being laughed at and called a ‘silly boy’ by a whore.”

“Oh dear witcher, that’s such a horrible word,” Jaskier admonished gently, “prostitute is better, but still so pejorative. I am personally particularly fond of the term _fille de joie_. It has a nice ring to it.”

“Euphemisms paint a pretty picture, but they don’t mask the misery of their trade entirely.”

“Perhaps not,” Jaskier mused, “but we are straying from the topic. I trust that Triss Merigold knocked some sense into your heads at least. I don’t know much about your education, but I would have thought that Vesemir or other older witchers would’ve given you a basic lesson in puberty and sexual maturation.”

Eskel snorted at those words.

“You seem to forget that Geralt and I are nearly a century old. Back when we were children, sex was still very much a taboo subject. We weren’t exactly taught what happens to our bodies. The general consensus was that in a keep of hundred or so young boys _one_ of them would educate the others sooner or later. I don’t know what Lambert’s experience was like, but Geralt and my generation of pupils… well, we just never talked about these things.”

The library was peaceful in the late hours of the evening. Erica and Ciri had gone to bed early that evening – Triss’ advice included a balanced diet, plenty of sleep and less of their secret mushroom concoction which kept Ciri fit and promoted muscle strength. Jaskier had not got wind of that yet and Eskel sincerely wished he never would. It was embarrassing enough that the enchantress had labelled all of them unfit guardians, Eskel did not want to give Jaskier any more reasons to agree with her. The two of them had naturally returned to the safety of the library and settled in chairs opposite each other. Jaskier had brought Eskel some hot tea – which was admittedly a nice change from the hot ale that Eskel had been known to abuse over winter. They had fallen into conversation easily, as if they had known each other for decades.

“Oh you poor sods,” Jaskier took a sip of his tea and settled deeper into the comfortable chair, “I’m glad Erica and I never came down when you guys did. Mind you, with how loudly Triss was screaming it was as if we were right there.”

“I believe that,” Eskel let out a soft chuckle, “I can’t remember the last time I felt like a scolded child.”

“If I may, I do think she was being a bit harsh. Yes, you were all oblivious, but none of you have experience dealing with girls. Were Ciri a boy you would’ve known exactly what to say and what to do. A pubescent girl, on the other hand – not exactly a witcher’s speciality. I assume that Ciri is the first female child surprise in a very long time.”

Eskel smiled softly yet something in his chest tightened. Jaskier had no idea. How could he? Eskel kept Deidre closely locked up in a deep part of his mind, after all. If Jaskier knew just how much experience Eskel had with female child surprises. Had he been more invested in her life, perhaps he would’ve known how to react with Ciri. But Eskel hadn’t been invested, had he? He had acted like a coward by dismissing the power of destiny, by ignoring the law of surprise and by denying his responsibility to Deirdre.

“I suppose we don’t really know what we’re doing,” Eskel said in a tight voice, “but that doesn’t excuse our behaviour. We made Ciri feel like she couldn’t come to us when she felt out of sorts. That would have been unacceptable with a boy as well.” If Jaskier picked up on the change in Eskel’s mood, he did not mention it. “Have you had a chance to use the lute you found?”

“Oh, I have indeed!” Jaskier’s face lit up at the subject and Eskel prided himself in how easily he had been able to divert the bard’s attention to a less uncomfortable topic, “I have found a muse in you, in fact, my dear witcher.”

“In me?” Eskel asked in a disbelieving tone. Jaskier nodded enthusiastically.

“After our conversation a couple of nights ago, I went to bed and couldn’t sleep. The words just spilled on the page. I have you to thank for that. I really enjoyed our conversations.”

“As did I,” Eskel admitted softly. The confession was innocent enough, and yet he still felt like he was revealing parts of himself he was taught to keep hidden for his own safety. _Witchers don’t feel. Emotions of any kind are weaknesses, and weaknesses get you killed on the path_. Varin had always been a miserable asshole, though. And yet, Jaskier stirred all kinds of feelings that Eskel knew would be detrimental to him in the long run. Feelings that would distract him or bring him pain. Jaskier deserved someone who cared for him unconditionally and unapologetically. Eskel… well, Eskel had never learned to care for someone in such a way.

“Erica tells me you and Aiden took her to see the horses today.” Jaskier eyed Eskel meaningfully, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Was I right?”

“About what?” Eskel asked, even though he had a fair idea what Jaskier wanted to hear.

“About Aiden not being like the other cat witchers?”

Eskel bit his lip and stared into the fire for a while, pondering his next words carefully. His conversation with Aiden had not actually gone past the apology he was owed. Eskel still had no idea what the other witcher was really like under the frosty exterior.

“Lambert told me that Aiden jumped in front of a wraith to save his life. That’s how he got that injury on his side.” Eskel paused, feeling the weight of Jaskier’s eyes on him. His scars faintly itched, but he managed to keep his hand on the armrest of the chair. “I figured that if Aiden was willing to do this for him, then the least I could do was apologise for being such a dick to him.”

“A very wise decision,” Jaskier agreed, fairly pleased with himself.

“Smugness is a terrible colour on you,” Eskel teased, his eyes finally meeting Jaskier’s, which were glinting with mischief.

“That’s where you’re wrong, my darling witcher, because I look fantastic in _any_ colour, thank you very much.”

Eskel grinned. _That you do_. Although he agreed with that statement, he decided to keep it to himself. No need to inflate Jaskier’s ego more than it already was or the poor man wouldn’t fit through the door. Would that be a bad thing, being stuck in this very library with Jaskier forever? Eskel willed those thoughts away.

“All jokes aside, I’m sure Lambert will appreciate what you did. I haven’t spoken to Lambert much but I’ve seen the way he acts around you. He respects you.”

“Yeah right,” Eskel huffed, “Lambert, respect me? I’m more likely to tame a group of nekkers than I am to earn the pup’s respect.”

“You’re wrong. Lambert respects you,” Jaskier maintained stubbornly, “he listens to you. When he speaks, his eyes always dart to two people in the room; Aiden and you. When he expresses an opinion, he subliminally leans in your direction. And when it comes to his lover being accepted as a member of your little family, it was you Lambert felt Aiden had to win over. Not Vesemir, not Geralt, but you.”

It made sense and deep down Eskel knew that it was true. Lambert would never admit it, not under the most vicious torture, just like Eskel would never admit that he had had a soft spot for Lambert the minute the little shit was dragged into Kaer Morhen by the scruff of his neck by Vesemir, cursing, biting and kicking the older witcher like there was no tomorrow. Anyone willing to challenge Vesemir so blatantly was at least worth his time and consideration. Even before Eskel found out about Lambert’s tragic past he had developed a fondness for the prickly pup.

“Lambert is the youngest of us. I walked the path for nearly two decades when Vesemir dragged the scruffy pup in. He’s younger and more reckless than Geralt and me. He doesn’t have the same experience, nor do we share the same values. He’s our little brother. We just want him to be safe out there. It’s easy to forget that he’s not the same boy he was when he first got here, but a skilled and capable witcher who can make his own decisions. As questionable as those decisions may be.”

“No one is in any position to judge Lambert for his choices. Just like no one is any position to judge you for yours, or me for mine.” Jaskier placed his cup of tea on a small table nearby to free his hands. “But I understand you completely. I dread the day Erica grows up and becomes a young woman with a mind of her own.”

“I would be dreading that too with a daughter like yours,” said Eskel, a playful smirk tugging at his lips, “I have a feeling she’ll grow up to be a woman with strong opinions and the confidence to stand up for what she believes in.”

Jaskier sighed dramatically at those words.

“I’m afraid, dear Eskel, that you are right. Let’s just pray that she stays a sweet five-year-old girl all her life.”

__________

“I have decided to send Ciri to Ellander to study with Nenneke come spring,” Geralt told Eskel the following morning at training.

“At the Temple School?” Eskel questioned before taking a swig of his water.

“Yes. I mentioned it to Ciri some months ago and she kicked up a fuss.” Geralt wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. Eskel handed him the water, which the other witcher accepted gratefully. “I think she had enough time to get used to the idea, though. I trust Nenneke and the Temple School to keep representatives from Aretuza at bay for as long as they can.”

“Nenneke will take good care of Ciri,” Eskel agreed as he picked up his sword, “If you’re happy with that decision, then you have my full support, but I suggest you speak to Ciri about it. Properly, and this time, make her feel included in the decision. Ready for another round? Swords, no signs?”

“Sure you can take it, old man?” Geralt teased, the shadow of a smile lurking on his features.

“You’re as old as I am, wise guy,” Eskel countered as he braced himself for attack, “so drop the condescending tone.”

__________

Triss ended up staying a while and even Lambert got used to the idea. He had stopped insulting the enchantress – actually, he had stopped speaking to her altogether. Eskel wasn’t sure if it was because Aiden had a word with the younger witcher or because Triss telling Lambert off had wounded his fragile ego. Eskel decided that it must have been a mixture of the two. He filled up his tankard with vodka and took a swig of it. Triss and Jaskier had joined the witchers that evening for drinks after the girls had gone to bed. Vesemir had also excused himself, muttering something about being too old to keep up with their drinking, and had retired to bed for the night. Aiden was practically sitting in Lambert’s lap at this point and Geralt growled at the Cat witcher to ‘get a fucking room’ more often than Eskel cared to remember. It was bad enough having to watch a drunk Aiden nibble at Lambert’s ear and whisper dirty promises of what he would do to Lambert once they were alone. Eskel tried _very hard_ not to overhear snippets of their hushed conversation, but enhanced witcher hearing be damned, he heard something about a collar and a blindfold. Eskel hoped that he could flush out that information with vodka before the end of the night. In the meantime, Eskel also had to wrestle with his own self-control as a tipsy Jaskier pressed himself to his body and kept referring to him as ‘his dear witcher’, flashing him radiant smiles and occasionally dropping his head to Eskel’s shoulder. He thanked the gods that Jaskier could not hear the way his heart skipped a beat everytime Eskel felt the bard’s hot breath hit the sensitive skin of his neck, causing goosebumps to rise on Eskel’s arms.

Clingy bards notwithstanding, the first half of the evening went by smoothly much to Eskel’s relief. The conversation turned bitter however when Lambert let it slip that Geralt worried about Triss taking Ciri away from him. If there was a way for Eskel to compel Lambert to shut the fuck up at will, the gods be his witnesses, he would have done so a long time ago.

“Your fears were entirely unfounded,” Triss grimaced as she pressed one arm to the table and reached for her vodka with the other hand, “the time when mages hunted Sources and gifted children is long gone. Did you really think I was going to take Ciri away from you?”

Her tone sounded genuinely hurt. Geralt remained silent and alternated between staring blankly into his tankard and glaring daggers at Lambert. Even Jaskier had settled down, head on Eskel’s shoulder once again, and was appraising the situation with keen eyes. Eskel, on the other hand, decided to come to Geralt’s aid as a way to distract himself from the heat radiating off Jaskier’s body.

“We know that you need to tell the Chapter about her,” he told Triss, keeping his voice even and calm, which in itself was a feat considering Jaskier’s very close proximity, “it’s a mage’s duty, after all. You may not take children away from their families anymore, but when they’re old enough you come in and convince them of the marvels magic has to offer, lure them in.”

“You don’t make it sound any less despicable, Eskel,” Triss told him bitterly, “and don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. I won’t tell anyone about Ciri. What? Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Triss, forgive me if I offend you, but I’m frankly surprised at how easily you’re accepting this. What happened to your loyalty to the Chapter and the Council?” Eskel questioned suspiciously, earning himself a cold glare from the sorceress.

“A lot of things happened, if you must know,” Triss said cryptically, “I won’t bore you with the details. While I remain loyal to the Chapter and the Council, in this matter, I am loyal to you.”

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them and even Aiden had forfeited his assault on Lambert’s neck, instead sitting with his hands in his lap and a glum expression plastered on his face. No one dared look up from their drink as they wrecked their brains for a way to change the topic of conversation. It was finally Jaskier who snapped first and came up with an idea.

“This is by far the most depressing party I’ve ever been to,” he announced loudly, earning himself groans of complaint from everyone around the table, “but I am, fortunately for you, very skilled at entertaining the crowds. I am the bard Jaskier, and I was born to entertain. _And_ I found a lute!”

“The gods save us all,” Geralt muttered under his breath before gulping what little remained of his vodka.

“I heard that, you boorish lout,” Jaskier accused, rising to his feet but swaying so much that Eskel ended up keeping a hold of him around the waist. “Did you tell your friends what you claimed about my singing? I quote, ‘it’s like ordering a pie and finding it has no filling’. Well let the room decide, Geralt. I’ll fill your pie up real good!”

“He doesn’t hear it, does he?” Lambert cackled loudly before shooting Geralt a cheeky wink. “That was an invitation and a half, pretty boy.”

“Shut the fuck up, Lambert,” Geralt barked moodily.

Eskel ignored the way his stomach twisted at the thought of Geralt sharing Jaskier’s bed.

“I would love to hear a song,” Triss encouraged Jaskier with a soft smile, “don’t listen to Geralt, he wouldn’t know anything about true entertainment if it hit him in the face.”

“ _Thank you_ , dear heart! Luckily for you, I brought my lute down just in case.”

Eskel kept a hold of Jaskier’s waist as the bard stepped over the low bench and struggled to keep his balance. The witcher’s larger hand reluctantly let go as Jaskier bounced to the other side of the room where his lute rested comfortably against the wall near the hearth. Just as Eskel wondered if Jaskier was sober enough to play the bard started to pluck at the strings of the instrument and fell comfortably into a rhythmic melody, flawlessly rendered even as Jaskier skipped around the room.

_Well a Skelligan clad in kilt left the bar one evening fair_

_One could tell by how he walked that he’d drunk more than his share_

_He fumbled round until he could no longer keep his feet_

_Then stumbled off into the grass asleep beside the street_

Eskel vaguely recognised the song, a popular tune often played in the Novigradian taverns that he sometimes frequented when he was in between contracts and forced into the bigger towns to replenish his supplies. Jaskier’s voice reverberated against the bare walls of the dining hall, its echo lingering even as he moved on to the next part of the song.

_About that time two young n’ lovely girls just happened by_

_One says to the other with a twinkle in her eye_

_“See yon sleeping Skelligan so strong and handsome built_

_I wonder if it’s true what they don’t wear beneath the kilt.”_

“Well, _I_ can tell you for certain they don’t wear nothin’ under those skirts,” Aiden slurred, his inhibitions not what they used to be now that he had a significant amount of alcohol in his system. Eskel could not hide his amused smirk at the sight of the Cat witcher struggling to keep upright in his seat. Were it not for Lambert’s arm wrapped securely around his waist, Aiden would surely be lying on the floor this very moment.

“They’re not skirts, they’re kilts,” Jaskier shouted from across the room, “don’t let a Skelligan catch you confusing the two!”

Jaskier winked at Eskel as he said those words but the latter pointedly avoided the bard’s gaze in favour of nursing his tankard of vodka. He was fairly certain that most people present knew he was from Skellige, not that this knowledge troubled him. Eskel simply hated being the centre of attention, even among friends. While Jaskier sauntered happily around the room, completely in his element, Eskel could not help occasionally stealing a glance at the man. _Alright_ , who was he kidding, he was openly staring. Jaskier looked so at ease, so content with simply performing for this crowd of boorish louts as he had called them, and Eskel felt hypnotised. The wide, toothy grin illuminating Jaskier’s face made him seem younger than his years. Happiness suited him. Perhaps it was the alcohol talking, but Eskel would do anything to make Jaskier happy if it meant seeing that gorgeous smile and hearing that enticing laugh for the rest of his life.

“Eskel, I never got the chance to thank you for how well you reacted to the situation this morning,” Triss suddenly spoke, her blue eyes twinkling in a way that Eskel did not quite understand. She had moved so she was now seated opposite Eskel at the table, while keeping a reasonable distance away from Lambert. Eskel raised an inquisitive brow at her which was Triss’ cue to elaborate. “The way you spoke to Ciri. The way you made her feel comfortable and safe with her indisposition, even if that understanding came a bit late.”

“Better late than never,” Eskel found himself philosophising, eager to move on from the topic. Triss seemed to find his unease amusing judging by the small smile playing on her lips.

“I, uhm-,“ Triss stumbled over her words, which was unusual for the well-spoken sorceress, “when you held my hand today, I felt this … sensation…”

“I know,” Eskel interrupted her nervous fumbling, “I’ve been told by mages before that my touch triggers a certain reaction in them. I won’t bore you with the details.”

Eskel remembered that night he spent with a young mage from Ban Ard. Well, make that multiple nights, but that was irrelevant. He had saved Aaron, a young novice, from a kikimora in a swamp a good day’s travel away from the mages’ citadel. The young man had proven himself to be _very_ grateful, and well, with a face like Eskel’s he hardly ever turned down a willing bed partner. Aaron had been a very responsive lover, a fact which had surprised Eskel in the sense that the mage was genuinely writhing under his touch and not putting up a show like most prostitutes did in the brothels Eskel occasionally frequented. After a heated night, Aaron admitted that Eskel’s touch was different. He could sense the vibrations of the witcher’s magic, which had heightened the pleasure Aaron had felt at Eskel’s hand.

Talk about a boost to Eskel’s ego.

“Right. It’s a very pleasant feeling, and I was wondering if you would… you know…,” Triss continued after a short pause and even though she left the rest of her sentence hanging in the air between them, Eskel knew exactly what she wanted from him. He sighed.

“You mages are insufferable,” he told her before stretching out his hands across the table and letting Triss place her smaller ones in his, a giddy smile on her face as she tentatively trailed her fingers across his palms. A small, uncharacteristic giggle escaped the enchantress. Triss clearly had had too much to drink.

The moment was interrupted by Jaskier unceremoniously landing next to Eskel on the bench.

“Any requests, dearest witcher?” the bard asked, catching Eskel’s attention.

“Anything you sing is fine by me, Jaskier. With a voice like yours, you can’t go wrong,” said Eskel. Lambert’s response was to make dramatic retching noises at Eskel’s words, but the latter knew better than to rise to the younger witcher’s taunt. All Eskel could see anyway were Jaskier’s eyes twinkling with open adoration as Eskel praised his singing.

“Oh, you flatterer,” the bard cooed, the tip of his tongue darting out to lick at his lips, and _gods_ the sight did things to Eskel, “I have just the song in mind. It’s one I’ve started composing but haven’t had a chance to finish yet, so be kind to me.”

To Eskel’s surprise, Jaskier did not rise from his seat but instead played the next tune like it was meant only for Eskel’s ears. It felt so intimate and yet Eskel was very much aware of the crowd gathered around them. He pulled his hands away from Triss’ hold and placed them on his lap in a way that hid the way Eskel nervously fiddled with the hem of his shirt. Jaskier seemed to sense none of the witcher’s uneasiness as he confidently plucked at the strings of his lute.

_You were raised by wolves and voices,_

_Every night I hear them howling deep beneath your bed_

_They said it all comes down to you_

_You are the space that’s in between_

_Every page, every chord and every screen_

_You are the driftwood and the rift_

_You’re the words I promise I don’t mean._

Eventually, Jaskier did get off the seat and began moving around the table as he sang. It was like the bard could not sit still for long before his entire being urged him to his feet once again. Triss did not ask to touch Eskel’s hands again and he was grateful for the respite. Else she might have noticed the moist palms and elevated heartbeat should her fingers have inadvertently grazed the pulsepoint on his wrist. As the night carried on, Jaskier eventually stopped singing in favour of drinking, and as everyone around the table got more and more drunk, the conversation became more and more light. Triss eventually excused herself and retired to her room, not without shooting Geralt one last lingering glance loaded with meaning. No one was surprised when Geralt followed her an hour or so later, leaving Eskel, Jaskier, Lambert and Aiden alone in the vast dining hall nursing their drinks. They probably would have carried on drinking until the early hours of the morning were it not for Erica suddenly appearing in the doorway, lower lip wobbling dangerously and eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

“Daddy, I had a nightmare and you weren’t in your room,” the small voice whined. Eskel had never seen a man sober up so quickly as Jaskier did when he heard his daughter’s distressed voice. In a flash, the bard was by her side and gathering her up in his arms, where Erica buried her face in the crook of his neck.

“Oh my darling, I’m so sorry. Daddy’s here, don’t be scared.”

“Can I sleep with you tonight, daddy?” Erica looked at Jaskier in a most heart-wrenching way and Eskel could not blame the bard for giving into his daughter’s request.

“Of course, sweetheart. I’ve got you, alright? Let’s go upstairs. Say goodnight to everyone,” Jaskier gently coaxed her, and Erica managed the softest of goodnights which was muffled by Jaskier’s doublet as she rested her cheek on his shoulder. Her eyes were already drooping when Jaskier parted from the others. “Goodnight gentlemen. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning.”

Eskel, Lambert and Aiden all groaned at the thought. All three would be nursing massive hangovers in the morning with the amount of alcohol they had consumed. Vesemir would have exactly zero pity for them and going by past experience the older witcher would pile on chore after chore just to prove a point.

“Argh slyzard shit on a cracker, it’s fucking snowing outside!” Lambert cursed, causing Eskel to turn around and confirm that fact for himself. He could indeed see thick snowflakes falling from the pitch-black sky. By morning, they would be covering most of the training yard in a thick white blanket which meant that training would most likely be cancelled.

“On the bright side, we’ll be staying inside most of the day,” Eskel commented casually as he finished the last of his vodka.

“Yeah, and one of us will be charged with shovelling that shit out of the yard. You know how papa Vesemir likes to keep us busy!”

“Fuck, I’ll do it if it’ll spare me from your whining about the cold all day.”

“Love you too, brother.”

__________

“Lambert, kitten, I’m either going crazy or I’m _slightly_ more drunk than I thought,” Aiden slurred after he had shut the bedroom door behind them, “but did you notice anything weird in the way Eskel and Jaskier were acting tonight?”

“You mean the way Eskel was drooling over the bard all evening, or the way Jaskier acted all jealous when Triss was holding Eskel’s hands? Or perhaps the way Jaskier was using Eskel as a makeshift pillow?” Lambert offered rhetorically as he helped Aiden out of his clothes. The Cat witcher caught the other man’s lips in a hungry kiss, which Lambert eagerly returned. They stood in the middle of their room kissing passionately for a while before Aiden suddenly broke the kiss and inhaled sharply.

“I just had an idea!” he announced, barely able to contain his excitement. Lambert rolled his eyes and whined when Aiden denied him another kiss.

“If this idea doesn’t involve getting naked and making good on some of those promises you whispered in my ear earlier tonight, then I don’t want to hear it.”

“Listen to me, kitten. We need to get Eskel and Jaskier together.”

“Why is this our job?” Lambert questioned moodily.

“Oh Lamby, don’t be like that,” Aiden purred, rubbing his stubble along Lambert’s neck and cheek, nibbling at the sensitive spot where throat and jaw met. The action pulled a wanton keen from Lambert who then proceeded to all but _melt_ in Aiden’s arms. “We can just give Eskel and Jaskier a little nudge in the right direction, is all. Imagine all the fun we could have setting them up.”

“Right now I’m imagining something else entirely and I’d rather not think about my brother and the bard while I live out those fantasies.”

Aiden did not resist this time when their lips met again in a feverish kiss.

__________

Geralt sat on one of the chairs in Ciri and Erica’s room, watching his child surprise sleep peacefully in one of the beds. The even rise and fall of her chest was a reassuring sight, as were the steady beating of her heart and the sleepy noises tumbling past her lips. How could he have missed the fact that Ciri had become a young woman? Triss was right, he was a poor guardian indeed. The thought of the girl feeling uncomfortable, or even ashamed to come to him with this – Geralt figured Ciri’s uncertainties were well-founded. He did not know how he would have reacted if she had dropped that bombshell on him. Probably run to Vesemir, and when the old man proved just as useless, to Eskel next. Geralt didn’t have a clue how to handle girls. A boy, on the other hand? Boys were easier, familiar. As much as Geralt had tried to turn Ciri into a boy for the purpose of her training, he knew that he could not ignore her gender any longer. It shouldn’t fucking matter anyway because one day she would turn into a fantastic witcher regardless.

Geralt had been so focused on her training that he kept forgetting that Ciri was just a child. A gifted one, but still a child.

 _What do we know about giving her a chance at a happy childhood_?

Eskel was right, none of them knew how. Kaer Morhen wasn’t a place where children used to thrive, at least not in the conventional sense of the word. Strong boys thrived. Gifted boys thrived. The others rarely survived the first winter, never mind the first trials. How many lives had been lost to this place? Would Ciri be just another casualty? Geralt would never let that happen. He was maybe not the best at discussing feelings or at showing compassion, but Ciri was _his_ daughter of destiny and if anyone tried to take her away or harm her would feel his wrath. And Lambert’s, and Vesemir’s, and Eskel’s. Ciri was his daughter by right, but she was also everyone else’s by choice. The Lion Cub of Cintra indeed, but also the Wolf Cub of Kaer Morhen. Warmth bloomed in Geralt’s chest at the thought. Their pup, a member of their pack. Family. He just wished he was better at showing just how proud he was to call her his child surprise.

With a small sigh, Geralt rose from his seat and stepped closer to Ciri’s bed. A wet patch on her pillow told Geralt that Ciri was drooling in her sleep. She looked so innocent and fragile when she was asleep, nothing like the whirlwind she was at training. Ciri let out a soft moan and shifted deeper under the covers as a cold draught penetrated the room. Geralt used his magic to reignite the fire in the hearth. In a rare moment of weakness, he gently carded his fingers through Ciri’s hair. Triss had taken the time to neaten up her hairdo and while the short hair still gave the girl a boyish appearance it looked miles better than the bird’s nest that used to be there in its stead. Geralt tensed when Ciri twitched in her sleep and her green eyes fluttered opened to meet his gaze.

“G’ralt?” she croaked softly in a way that tugged at Geralt’s heartstrings, “wha’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, child. You’re safe. Go back to sleep.”

Ciri rubbed her eyes and looked around the room, almost as if assuring herself with her own eyes that there was no immediate danger. That Geralt wasn’t the product of her imagination, that she wasn’t stuck in a dream. The witcher waited patiently for Ciri to come back to her senses and determine reality for herself. Eventually, she heaved a deep sigh and flopped back onto her pillow.

“I’m sorry that Triss yelled at you all last night.”

“Don’t worry, pet. We deserved it,” Geralt assured her, only then realising that his fingers had resumed their tender ministrations and were gently brushing through Ciri’s tousled hair. The girl did not complain and even leaned into the affectionate touch.

“Well, not really. I never told you about… my indisposition. You couldn’t have known.”

“Hush, Ciri. Don’t worry about us, we’re tough. We can take it.” Geralt managed a small smile, which hopefully was reassurance enough. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“’s okay. Usually I wake up when Erica sneaks into my bed,” Ciri admitted in a hushed voice, her eyes seeking out the other girl’s sleeping form. Geralt was quick to put Ciri’s mind at rest when she found Erica’s bed empty.

“She’s most likely in Jaskier’s room. Does she sleep in your bed often?”

Ciri nodded. “I don’t mind. She’s scared of the wind. She thinks they’re ghosts.”

“She’s young. Her imagination is going wild. She’s lucky to have you here to show her she’s got nothing to fear.”

The praise made Ciri glow with pride, a tired but no less pleased smile gracing her lips. Geralt softened at the sight. Ciri would have made a great sister to Erica, if only the girls wouldn’t have to part so soon. Something twisted in him at the thought. He still had to speak to Ciri about his plans for the spring.

“Hey listen here, kid. Remember when we mentioned you going to study with Nenneke in the spring?” When Ciri only nodded stiffly, Geralt took it as his cue to continue. “I think it’ll be a good idea for you to go. You’ll be safe there. I trust Nenneke, she won’t do you any harm.”

“Will I still be allowed to see you?” Ciri asked, insecurity lacing her tone. Geralt sighed. He knew he had to be honest with her.

“I’ll do my best to visit, but I haven’t been on the Path for a while now. I might be slower, might take some time to adjust. You can write to me whenever you want, Ciri. We’ll make it work.”

Ciri hid her face in her pillow and was silent for a while. Were it not for the sound of her breath hitching in her throat as she swallowed her tears and bit back on her sobs, Geralt would have assumed that the girl had gone back to sleep. He gave her a minute to let it all out, his fingers gently trailing along her neck in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. After Ciri had calmed down, she raised her head and met Geralt’s gaze.

“I think I want to travel. Erica keeps telling me about all these places she’s been to, and it sounds nice. But you’re not allowed to forget about me! Promise me that you won’t forget about me, Geralt.”

Geralt’s hand came to cup the side of Ciri’s face, wiping a wayward tear from her cheek that had managed to escape. He made no mention of her crying, but did not dismiss it either. “I will never forget about you Ciri. I don’t think I could even if I wanted to. You’re a Wolf now. We never forget about a member of the pack. I promise.”

Geralt stayed by Ciri’s bed for a while after she had gone back to sleep, his fingers still idly playing with her hair. He only moved when his knees started to ache from crouching for a prolonged period of time. As Geralt headed for the door, casting one last look at Ciri’s sleeping form, his insides twisted painfully. He would miss this, would miss having her around. His child of destiny. His little but fierce wolf pup. Geralt silently headed back the way he came and placed a soft kiss to Ciri’s hair.

And if Geralt ended up in Triss’ room to help him forget about his sorrows for a while, then that was nobody’s fucking business but his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILERS
> 
> Some of you will have guessed that the plot I'm following from the books is Ciri going to Ellander and staying at the Temple School for a while before Yen takes her under her wing, but I thought I would clarify for those of you who didn't know but still read this chapter. 
> 
> Songs:
> 
> I adapted the lyrics of the song 'The Scotsman' by Hair of the Dog by changing the word Scotsman to Skelligan so it fits the story. 
> 
> The other set of lyrics are taken from the song 'Horror and the Wild' by The Amazing Devil.


	11. Chapter 11

Geralt’s announcement that Ciri would be leaving Kaer Morhen in the spring for Ellander took everyone by surprise. Lambert looked crushed for all of ten seconds before he schooled his face into his usual moody scowl. Eskel, who knew about Geralt’s decision beforehand, was better at hiding how the situation made him feel. While Triss looked surprised, she chose not to comment on Geralt’s decision. The one reaction no one had counted on was Erica’s meltdown. 

“What do you mean you’re leaving?” she questioned, her voice quivering dangerously, “you can’t leave!” 

Jaskier’s protective instincts kicked in as he went to embrace his upset child. He reigned in the urge to pull Erica close in favour of kneeling before her and meeting her gaze. Tears welled up in her eyes and ran down her cheeks, but Jaskier quickly caught them with his thumbs. 

“Sweetheart, don’t cry. It’s okay to feel upset, but it’s not your decision. If Geralt thinks that it’s what’s best for Ciri, we need to respect his decision.”

“Ciri promised she would never leave me. She promised that she would always keep me safe,” Erica looked over at Ciri, betrayal written all over her soft features. The older girl, meanwhile, stared at her own feet in shame. Jaskier’s heart tightened at the sight. 

“Just because she’s leaving doesn’t mean that you can’t stay in touch. We can write to her, my darling. You’ll be able to practice your spelling by writing letters to her, I’m sure Ciri would be happy to get them.”

“No! She can’t leave!” Erica snapped, not even trying to stop the fresh tears rolling down her face. “Ciri, you promised! You promised!”

“Erica, that’s quite enough-”

“I’m sorry, okay?” Ciri suddenly spoke up in a small voice so uncharacteristic of the determined and headstrong young princess Jaskier had got to know over the past weeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to go either.”

“So don’t,” Erica begged more than demanded, a broken sob pushing past her lips. Jaskier shushed her softly, but the action did precious little to comfort his daughter. “You can’t leave Ciri. You’re my only friend!”

A heavy silence fell over the dining hall, broken only by Erica’s choked whimpers. Ciri looked at Geralt - of all people - for help, but the white wolf would not meet her gaze, jaw set and eyes fixed on the opposite wall. Even when Ciri met Erica’s gaze once again, the young girl did not know what to say. 

“Forget it!” Erica cried out before pulling away from Jaskier and dashing out of the dining hall despite Jaskier’s best efforts to keep her in the room. Just as he went to follow her and make sure she did not get lost, Eskel’s heavy hand came to rest on Jaskier’s shoulder and gently pulled him back. When Jaskier met the kind golden eyes he felt something in his chest tighten.

“Eskel, I must-”

“Allow me? I promise she won’t get far and we won’t let her get hurt.”

Jaskier hesitated. Comforting Erica was  _ his  _ job and he felt wrong delegating it to another person. There was something about Eskel’s calm tone, however, that gave Jaskier pause. A small voice at the back of his head told him to trust Eskel, to let him try. Perhaps the perspective of another adult was what Erica needed to make sense of what was happening and to process her new friend - her  _ only  _ friend - leaving for the foreseeable future. 

“Alright. If she needs me, I’ll-”

“I’ll come find you when I’ve spoken to her, Jaskier. I promise.” Eskel squeezed his shoulder reassuringly before chasing after Erica, far too slowly for Jaskier’s taste but the witcher could probably locate the girl better than Jaskier could hope to. His daughter was in Eskel’s hands now and Jaskier kept reminding himself that Eskel was safe. He  _ felt  _ safe and Erica trusted him.

As Eskel disappeared out of the dining hall, Jaskier let out a shaky breath. 

__________

Erica did not run too far and Eskel could have guessed her hiding spot even without his superhuman senses. The sound of a frantic heartbeat and heartbreaking sobs intensified as Eskel stepped into the stables. Erica was sitting on the floor near Pegasus’ stables, her trembling body pressed against the door of the horse’s stall and her legs pulled up to her chest. She had hidden her face in her knees, her sobs only interrupted by occasional wet sniffling. Scorpion nudged Eskel’s shoulder with his nose and the witcher acknowledged his stallion’s greeting with a quick scratch behind the ear. 

“Scorpion is asking me why you’re upset. Can I tell him?” Eskel asked softly. Erica’s trembling stopped briefly while the girl pondered his request. She eventually nodded without looking up from her knees. Eskel still considered it a win that she didn’t ignore him completely. Eskel noticed that Erica peeked in his direction nonetheless and he put up a show of leaning into Scorpion’s space as if he was listening intently to what his stallion was whispering into his ear. 

“What’s that Scorpion? Ah yes, I understand. You’re a very clever horse… Let me ask her.” Eskel cleared his throat demonstratively before addressing Erica again. “Scorpion thinks it would be best if you told him yourself. He thinks it wouldn’t be polite for me to tell your story. Do you think you can talk to him?”

There was another pause, longer this time. Eskel prided himself on being a patient man, so he gave Erica as much time as she needed. The girl eventually shifted and raised her head, revealing her tear-stricken face. Her red puffy eyes darted between Eskel and Scorpion as she pondered her next words. She did finally rise to her feet and wiped her nose with the sleeve of her woollen jumper. Eskel smiled softly at her in what he hoped was a reassuring fashion. Erica managed a faint smile in return and she ended up trudging up to Eskel and Scorpion. When she stood next to him, she craned her neck to look up at him and raised her arms in a silent plea for Eskel to pick her up. He complied easily. 

“Scorpion tells me to let you know that your secret is safe with him. And he made me vow not to tell anyone either.” 

Erica wound her arms around Eskel’s neck and gently placed her head on his shoulder, but she did not reply. Her little hand reached out to pet Scorpion’s nose and the stallion let out a pleased huff. 

“Is Scorpion sad that Ciri is leaving, too?” she asked in a rough voice. 

“I don’t know, little one. Are you sad Ciri is leaving, boy?” Eskel directed his question at the mute horse, waiting several heartbeats to keep up the pretence that he and Scorpion could understand each other on a deeper level. Admittedly it sometimes felt that way, but Eskel did not mind exaggerating their bond for Erica’s benefit. “He says that he will miss her very much, but that he wants her to be happy. If going away means that she has a chance at a better life, then that’s what needs to happen for Ciri. Even if it hurts to see her go.”

“But isn’t Scorpion worried that she’ll meet a horse that she likes better than him?”

“Is that what concerns you, little one? Are you worried that Ciri will replace you?”

Erica pulled away enough to meet Eskel’s eyes and silently, almost imperceptibly, she nodded her assent. Eskel heaved a heavy sigh, but he diligently turned to Scorpion and addressed his next words to the horse instead. 

“Is that something that concerns you too, Scorpion?” Whether Scorpion truly understood the importance of the situation or whether it was just a coincidence, the stallion chose that moment to snort in response. Erica let out a sad agreeing sigh. “Would you two like to hear my opinion on the situation?”

Eskel noticed movement out of the corner of his eyes, but he heard Jaskier arrive well before he saw him. He could not blame the bard for being concerned about his daughter, but Eskel thought it was positive that Jaskier had not intervened yet. He trusted Eskel to handle the situation. One day, Erica would realise just how lucky she was to have a father who was so caring and involved. A father who loved her more than life itself and would travel to the moon and back for her. 

“Yeah,” Erica finally agreed to Eskel’s offer. 

“I think that it’s normal for you and Scorpion to feel that way,” Eskel started, his eyes occasionally darting to where he knew Jaskier was hiding, “and I think that maybe Ciri is feeling the same way about you two. She’s probably just as worried about you two finding new friends and replacing her. But remember, Erica, you and Ciri are both wolves of Kaer Morhen. You’re both witcher apprentices. Us wolves, we’re not just friends or acquaintances, we’re a pack. A family, yes?”

“A family? But daddy is my family,” Erica reasoned weakly, the emotional rollercoaster of the same morning taking a toll on her body and mind. 

“Your father is also a wolf in his own right. He’s been a wolf for longer than you realise, little one. He and Geralt have known each other for nearly two decades. That’s four time as long as you’ve been alive.” 

Erica’s eyes widened at the revelation and the look of disbelief on the young girl’s face pulled an amused chuckle from Eskel.

“They’ve known each other that long?” she asked almost as if to ensure she heard him right. Eskel nodded solemnly.

“Your father has been a wolf the moment he met Geralt and saw more in him than the mean scary witcher everyone else saw. He became a wolf the day he wrote that song about Geralt and made him famous across the Continent. Your father is a wolf in his own right and he’s part of the pack.”

Eskel meant every word he said. Jaskier was a wolf, had been since he had wormed his way into Geralt’s heart. Geralt was not good with words, but he showed his love in different ways and the fact that he had not only allowed the bard to tag along but had also  _ sought him out  _ on several occasions proved that Jaskier was more than just an acquaintance. The way Geralt had beaten himself up for the past six years and blamed himself for all the pain he had caused Jaskier with his words proved that Jaskier was also more than just a friend. Jaskier was a wolf. Jaskier was family. 

“How do I know I’m part of the pack?” Erica asked, tone laced with uncertainty. Eskel gently booped Erica’s nose with one finger. 

“Because I said so,” he said, a warm smile gracing his lips. Erica mirrored his expression, her sadness finally giving way to the sweet smell of relief.

“Did you hear that, Scorpion?” Erica asked in a joyful voice, “You’re a member of the pack, too.”

“That he is. Now I think that you need to go speak to Ciri, little one. What do you think?”

“Yes, I think so,” Erica agreed. Eskel lowered her to the ground and tapped her on the back to nudge her in the direction of the keep again.

“On you go, then. I think your father is waiting for you outside.”

Jaskier finally stepped sheepishly into the stables and as their eyes briefly met Eskel felt a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Jaskier had never looked so embarrassed, but the pink tinge to his cheeks and the tip of his ears was simply too endearing for Eskel  _ not  _ to comment on it. 

"Are you cold, Jaskier? You should dress warmer next time you come out to the stables."

"I get it, you caught me," Jaskier snapped, but there was no venom in his tone and his eyes sparkled with mirth, "I was a fool for thinking I could sneak up on a witcher."

"Let it be a lesson for the next time." Eskel winked teasingly for good measure, which only made Jaskier turn a darker shade of crimson.

"I'm sorry I eavesdropped, it was wrong," Jaskier apologised while running a hand through Erica's hair as she pressed close to him for a hug, "I just-" 

"You did what any concerned parent would have done. Don't apologise, Jaskier."

Jaskier's smile could rival the sun in both light and warmth, and Eskel felt an electric current run down the length of his spine at the sight. 

"Thank you, Eskel. I don't know where we'd be without you. Once again you’ve handled this crisis brilliantly."

With those words Jaskier and Erica left the stables in search of Ciri. Eskel was once again left alone with his ever faithful Scorpion mouthing greedily at his owner’s empty pockets. Heaving a long sigh, Eskel scratched the back of Scorpion's ear and earned himself a pleased nicker followed by a loud snort. 

"I know, Scorpion. I don't know why I keep getting myself in these situations either but what can you do." A high-pitched whinny was the only response Eskel got. "Hey, don't judge me. Even witchers feel sometimes and Jaskier, well. He has this incredible power of bringing out the very best in people."

__________

“We’re running low on supplies,” Vesemir announced casually that morning over a meagre breakfast. At first, no one around the table reacted and Jaskier wondered if he had perhaps hallucinated them. He did not let it distract him from his primary aim of spreading butter on a slice of bread which he then handed to Erica with a whispered ‘there you go, darling’. 

"Weather's mild still," said Geralt after swallowing his mouthful of watery porridge, "we can go hunt game tomorrow."

"Agreed. I'll go with you," Eskel volunteered without looking up from his dinner, "Scorpion needs to exercise, he's getting fat."

"That's because you spoil him," said Lambert, "giving him sugar cubes every time you see him, no wonders he's fat."

"First of all, I don’t give him sugar cubes  _ every time  _ I go see him. Take today for example, he never got a treat. Secondly, he works hard when we're on the Path and he's the most loyal horse I've ever had. The least he deserves is to be spoiled when he's here over winter."

Everyone resumed their breakfast in silence. The porridge was not the best thing Jaskier had ever tasted but it filled a hole and kept him warm at least. The prospect of supplies running out was concerning even though the witchers seemed very candid about the situation. Jaskier, on the other hand, worried that he and Erica might have contributed to these unfortunate state of affairs. After all, the witchers had two more mouths to feed this winter and although Eskel, had bought extra rations with them in mind, it clearly was not enough to feed all of them for all of winter. 

As if reading his mind, Triss Merigold suddenly spoke. 

"You’ll need more than game to provide a healthy diet for Ciri and Erica. You'll need some cheese and milk too, probably warmer clothes for the girls. Two weeks away from the winter solstice the weather is bound to turn even harsher soon-" 

"The winter solstice?" Erica exclaimed, her eyes going wide as she twisted in her seat so she could look up at Jaskier, "Daddy, it’s yule soon! We need to make a yule dinner!" 

Oh.  _ Oh no.  _ Jaskier had completely forgotten about the upcoming yule celebrations. Back in Novigrad, the whole city would partake in celebrations in days coming up to the winter solstice. Light shows, fireworks, yule markets, yule choirs singing from door to door in return for humble donations, mulled wine and spiced teas, sweets and treats at every corner - and of course, the gifts. Jaskier always tried to make these celebrations special for Erica. For one, he was often away on assignments for Dijkstra so the little time he did get to spend with Erica was precious to him and he always felt like he had to make it up to her. He would spoil her with gifts and all the treats she could eat. They would then cuddle in one bed and come up with stories and songs until the late hours of the evening. 

Yule celebrations were special and Jaskier cherished that time of year as much as Erica did, albeit for different reasons. He hated breaking the bad news to her that this year they would have to forego the yule celebrations. 

“Sorry, my darling. I don’t think we can have a yule dinner or gifts this year.”

“Why not?” Erica’s voice wavered slightly, “was I bad?”

“Oh sweet darling, no you weren’t bad, it’s just,” Jaskier’s breath hitched in his throat at the sight of Erica’s crestfallen expression, “dear heart, you have been such a good and brave girl these past weeks. You deserve this more than anyone and more than any other year, but like Vesemir said we’re running low on supplies. We need to think of the next few weeks ahead.”

“Unless we go on a quick trip into Ard Carraigh,” Triss suggested softly. Jaskier looked up at the enchantress and found a sad smile adorning Triss’ lips, “this place could use some colour and some life. I could create a portal into Ard Carraigh and get some supplies while the others go hunt. What do you think, Vesemir?”

Many years later, Jaskier would tell the story first by making it absolutely clear to his audience that he did not know with absolute certainty what sealed the deal for Vesemir. Perhaps Vesemir agreed because was very fond of Triss and treated her like the daughter or granddaughter he never had. Or maybe Vesemir met Erica’s pleading gaze across the table and even his old weathered heart could not resist the trembling lips of a five-year-old girl who had just been denied a day of merriment and delights. Maybe Vesemir noticed the way Ciri perked up at the possibility of making her last winter at Kaer Morhen as enjoyable as possible, filled with memories of laughter and joy that would stick with her for a lifetime.  _ Why  _ Vesemir agreed to Triss’ suggestion was not important so much as the fact that later that day, the witchers were making plans to celebrate yule at the keep and were gathering as much coin as they could spare to spend in Ard Carraigh. 

They decided that Eskel, Geralt and Lambert would go on a hunting trip together and bring back as much meat as their horses and themselves could carry. Triss offered to go into Ard Carraigh herself, but Aiden announced that he would not mind leaving the walls of Kaer Morhen and getting some exercise. Although his wound had fully healed, Lambert’s strict bedrest rule meant that the Cat witcher was beginning to feel stir-crazy. Jaskier did not blame him - he, too, was beginning to feel trapped within Kaer Morhen. Besides, he had planned to buy everyone presents - everyone in the keep deserved the, and it was the very least Jaskier could do to repay them for their generosity and hospitality. For these reasons, Jaskier decided that he would join Aiden on his trip to Ard Carraigh. 

__________

It took some convincing on Jaskier’s part to be allowed to travel with Aiden to Ard Carraigh. He first asked the enchantress Triss Merigold if it was even possible for her to portal two people at once. While Jaskier was fairly certain that it would not be a bother, it was only polite to ask Triss first in case she had any objections. For all Jaskier knew a human might not withstand the effects of teleportation as well as a witcher. After Triss heard of Jaskier’s plan, she positively vibrated with excitement at the prospect of Jaskier surprising everyone with gifts and assured him that he could safely travel through one of her portals. 

“Oh, and while you’re away would you mind if I spent some time with your daughter? I was going to have a girl’s day with Ciri and Erica. We can do our hair, wear pretty dresses, maybe even let the girls decorate the place. The gods know the castle could use a feminine touch, don’t you agree?”

Jaskier smiled softly at the suggestions and Triss’ evident enthusiasm.

“Erica will be delighted. She used to love spending time with my friend Shani back in Novigrad. She needs positive female role models in her life.”

“Oh, you flatter me,” Triss remarked, a blush gracing her cheeks, “it’s no trouble really. Your daughter is a sweet girl. You’re doing a great job raising her..”

With Triss on his side, Jaskier then went to find Aiden because if the Cat witcher did not care for his company then what was the point? Aiden, as it turned out, was delighted that Jaskier wanted to go with him. Nobody else had volunteered and Lambert desperately wanted to go on that hunting trip with his brothers to blow off some steam. Jaskier also let Aiden in on his little plan.

“I want to surprise people with gifts,” he told the Cat witcher when he was absolutely sure no one could overhear their conversation, “everyone has been so welcoming, I want to give something back. I was thinking we could get whatever supplies we need first and look for presents with the coin that’s left over. I was thinking practical gifts so the others don’t think I’m taking advantage of their generosity and spending all their coin on useless junk.”

“Whatever coin we managed to collect is ours to spend however we feel like. Don’t worry bard, nobody ruined themselves. We all kept some coin aside for the spring when we first set out on the path.” Aiden paused, eyes widening as if a thought had just hit him. Aiden did not share whatever grand idea had just dawned on him with Jaskier. “Don’t you worry about the money. We’ll have plenty to spoil everyone.”

With Triss and Aiden agreeing to have Jaskier go to Ard Carraigh, he felt confident that nothing would stop him from going into town and mixing with civilization again. In fact, Jaskier was excited to go. As grateful as he was for the witchers’ hospitality, he missed Novigrad and Oxenfurt, missed the crowds and the vibrant culture, missed taking Erica to one of Irina Renarde’s performances. Jaskier missed the Academy, he missed the action, missed the markets… all of that which he would likely never be allowed to enjoy ever again without the threat of Dijkstra’s wrath looming over his head. Ard Carraigh would have to do for now. 

As it turned out, Geralt had something to say about Jaskier’s grand idea to leave the keep. 

“I think you should stay here,” the white wolf announced over dinner that same evening, “Aiden can manage perfectly well on his own.”

“While I don’t doubt that,  _ old friend _ , and while your faith in Aiden is touching,  _ I  _ wish to go to Ard Carraigh. What better time to do that with Aiden as my personal bodyguard?” 

“Ard Carraigh isn’t safe for you,” Geralt grated, his cat-like eyes flickering up to meet Jaskier’s gaze. Their intensity was unsettling even to Jaskier, who after all was used to Geralt’s disapproving glares. “I don’t need to remind you that the reason you’re here is because you’re on the run from Dijkstra and his henchmen. We welcomed you in our home to help you out of a sticky situation, like I always had to do in the past. The least you could do is show some fucking respect.”

“Hey,” Aiden piped up, “I don’t know what crawled up your ass and died there, but Jaskier has been pulling his weight for the past weeks and there’s no need to make him feel like a burden when this place has never been more lively. Your issue is not with Jaskier being disrespectful but with the fact that he’ll be travelling with  _ me _ , on his  _ own _ , and you still don’t trust me further than you can throw me.” 

“Is that your guilty conscience talking?” Geralt asked rhetorically, to which Aiden hissed in response.

“I’ve not given you any reason to doubt my loyalty, Geralt. You’re just choosing to be an asshole.”

“Daddy?” Erica called out for him softly, her eyes wide with fear as she registered Aiden’s words, “why are Aiden and Geralt arguing?”

“Geralt, knock it off,” Eskel shot his brother a pointed look, “you’re scaring the kid.”

“It’s not worth it, Aiden,” said Lambert simultaneously, one hand disappearing under the table to squeeze Aiden’s leg. The Cat witcher’s eyes landed on Lambert and Jaskier watched Aiden visibly deflate as he allowed his lover’s presence to calm him. This was what it must feel like, Jaskier thought, to love someone so unconditionally they become your whole world. 

“I didn’t mean to cause an argument,” Jaskier offered helplessly.

“It’s not about you, bard,” Aiden gritted through clenched teeth, “Geralt is just deflecting, as usual.”

“Enough!” Vesemir barked, his voice softening once he assured himself that Geralt and Aiden were done snapping at each other, “enough. If Jaskier wants to go to Ard Carraigh that is his decision and we can’t blame him for wanting out of this cold dreary castle. Geralt, Aiden, whatever bad blood there is between you two I suggest you deal with it somewhere more private away from young impressionable ears.”

They spent the rest of dinner in silence and that night everyone retreated to their rooms early. They needed all the rest they could get for what awaited them the next morning.

__________

Lambert, Eskel and Geralt left early the next morning. They had the horses saddled in no time and wasted no time racing each other to their favourite hunting grounds only an hour’s ride north of Kaer Morhen. The horses were grateful for the opportunity to stretch their legs while their riders enjoyed the feeling of the wind blowing through their hair as they whizzed past dramatic landscapes. After being cooped up for weeks in the stuffy and delabrated castle, the change of scenery did all of them some good. The three witchers reached the hunting ground just as the sun managed to pierce through the thick blanket of clouds, illuminating Morhen valley below and bathing the world in a warm glow. The brief rays of sunshine did precious little to soften the biting cold of the wind, but it certainly helped brighten Eskel’s mood. 

The three of them set up camp in the forest near a riverbed, a spot encircled by tall trees which provided relative shelter from the wind. Lambert and Geralt still were not on speaking terms since Geralt and Aiden’s argument the previous evening. Geralt therefore volunteered to scout the area for game. The white wolf disappeared into the surrounding woods, traps dangling from his belt and crossbow slung across his back. Geralt was an excellent hunter and if past experience was anything to go by he would be gone for a while. As they waited, Lambert lead his horse Storm close to the riverbed where he retrieved his fishing rod from his saddlebag. For a while both Eskel and Lambert were content just sitting in companionable silence. Lambert focused on his fishing, occasionally clicking his tongue at his horse when the beast wandered too far away from camp. The distant howling of wolves reminded Eskel that they were not out there on a leisurely hunting trip - they were competing with other predators in the forest for scarce resources. Despite the relatively mild winter, game was still hard to come by for both witchers and other natural predators alike. They needed to keep an eye out for danger and their ears sharp in case Geralt ran into some trouble.

Well, Eskel was not so convinced that Lambert would run to Geralt’s aid after last night’s scene. 

“I’m guessing you’re still mad at Geralt?” Eskel remarked, earning himself a derisive snort in return.

“Yes, and I’m also mad at you,” said Lambert deadpan. Eskel raised an eyebrow and scoffed.

“You’re mad at me? What did I do?”

Lambert tensed, but otherwise remained silent. Eskel did not press even though his curiosity nearly got the better of him. He had done nothing to offend Aiden the previous evening and he had even told Geralt off. Lambert could not possibly have a reason to be upset with him, but pushing the matter would only make the prickly wolf to bristle. Just as Eskel intended to meditate he heard Lambert stick his fishing rod in the ground and shuffle around until he was facing Eskel. 

“You wanna know why I’m mad at you? I’m mad at you because you didn’t stand up for Aiden even though you two apparently reached an understanding not that long ago. I thought that when Geralt was being his usual dickish self  _ you  _ would step in and defend Aiden. You didn’t. You let Geralt insult him like it was the most natural thing in the world.”

“Oh Lambert, please,” Eskel let out a heavy sigh as his hands came up to rub across his face in irritation, “I didn’t want to get involved. It was bad enough that Aiden and Geralt were arguing without me adding to it.”

“See Eskel, that’s your problem,” Lambert grimaced, “you never get involved. Didn’t get involved with Deirdre, don’t get involved when Geralt is unnecessarily attacking Aiden-”

“Deirdre has nothing to do with this conversation,” Eskel challenged, his voice closer to a growl as he glowered at the younger wolf.

“Oh, but she has everything to do with it. When you refuse to get involved, people get hurt. Deirdre, Aiden,  _ me _ …”

“It was never my intention to hurt you, Lambert.” Eskel met Lambert’s eyes then, meaning every word he said. “Aiden can take care of himself without me having to intervene.”

“Yes, he can, but that’s not the point. The point is that you’re a fucking hypocrite.” Lambert spat on the ground before returning to his fishing rod. “Your apology to Aiden was nothing but pretty words to appease poor juvenile Lambert. You never really meant it. You just wanted to shut me up. So yeah, I’m mad at both you and Geralt. Now if you don’t mind, you’re scaring away the fish.”

__________

“I’ll portal you just outside the city gates,” Triss announced later that day when Jaskier and Aiden met her in the courtyard, “that way you won’t attract too much attention to yourselves. People in Ard Carraigh are used to mages popping in and out of the city at will with Ban Aard so close.”

“Outside the city gates is perfect,” Jaskier assured the enchantress with a grateful smile. Triss acknowledged him with a nod. 

“The markets are busy this time of year just before the solstice, you might need more time than anticipated. Here,” Triss walked to the table and retrieved three burlap sacks which she handed over to Aiden, “you’ll need these to carry the supplies back through the portal. With all the best intentions in the world, I don’t think I can get a cart back through one of my portals. Three sacks should be enough. Do you have the pouches of coin?”

“Right here,” Jaskier raised the two pouches, one for himself and one for Aiden so both could go their separate ways and get the job done quicker, “when are you expecting us back?”

“Take all the time you need. These are locator charms,” Triss fished two purple gems out of her pockets and dropped one in each of Jaskier and Aiden’s outstretched hands, “I’ll know where you are at any time using these. If you’re not back by nightfall, I’ll activate the tracking system. When you’re ready to come back, hold the gem in your hand and say  _ daerienn gaeth _ . I’ll be able to locate you too and portal you back to the keep.”

“Be careful down there, the both of you,” Vesemir’s gravelly voice caught everyone’s attention, “don’t waste too much time, don’t attract attention to yourselves. Especially you, Jaskier. We never know who might be listening and I don’t want anything to happen to you on my watch. Aiden… the same applies to you, boy.”

Aiden’s eyes widened at Vesemir’s words. Jaskier figured that the Cat witcher did not trust his voice enough to speak judging by the way he tersely nodded in affirmation before lowering his eyes, unable to hold Vesemir’s piercing glare. Jaskier could not hide the pleased smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Vesemir’s utterance was a step in the right direction at least. Lambert’s family was slowly warming up to the thought of Aiden, or at the very least accepting that Aiden was important to Lambert. Baby steps. 

“Why can I not come with you, daddy?” Erica asked in a small voice that had Jaskier’s heart squeeze painfully in his chest. His daughter walked up to him and clung desperately onto his leg almost as if she feared that he would disappear before her eyes. Jaskier crouched before her and placed a soft kiss to her cheek.

“Sweetheart, it’s just a quick trip to get supplies. Remember the last time when you got lost in the crowd in Ard Carraigh? I really don’t want that to happen again, alright. I’ll be back before you know it. You know what?” 

“What?”

“A little bird told me that Triss has very exciting plans for you and Ciri today,” Jaskier whispered conspiratorially, “she even mentioned making your hair all pretty and decorating the castle for yule. Wouldn’t you like that?”

“Yes, but I want to decorate with you,” Erica added miserably. Jaskier bit back a sigh. It was no surprise that his daughter was worried about him leaving on his own. The last couple of times that had happened Jaskier had been gone on assignments for Dijkstra for weeks at a time, leaving Erica with Shani. 

“Darling, I promise you that I’ll be back before you know it. Leave something for me to decorate, alright? And we’ll do that together tonight before bed.”

“Pinky swear, daddy,” demanded the little girl, thrusting her stubby pinky in Jaskier’s face and leaving no room for argument. Jaskier easily hooked his much longer finger around his daughter’s, squeezing gently to mark their pact and his honest intent to return to her. 

“Besides, Aiden’s there to protect me sweetheart. Now, the quicker I leave the quicker I’ll be coming back to you. Give daddy a hug for good luck.” Jaskier opened his arms and instantly had a lapful of Erica clinging onto him for dear life. He wound his arms around his daughter and kissed the top of her head in parting. When they broke apart, Erica was smiling and nothing warmed Jaskier’s heart quite like his daughter’s happiness. 

“Won’t let anything happen to your dad, little fox,” Aiden vowed, right hand resting solemnly over his heart, “witcher’s honour, miss.”

Erica only giggled at Aiden’s ceremonial statement but her worries of Jaskier not coming back seemed forgotten for the time being as she skipped back to Ciri’s side. Satisfied that there would be no further interruptions, Triss cleared her throat and conjured a portal before their eyes. Aiden stepped through it first, burlap sacks in hand and… was that his guitar case strapped to his back? 

Before Jaskier could linger on that thought too long, Triss urged him to step through the portal. He ignored the nervous knot in his stomach as he stepped through the black hole against all human reason. Jaskier was not too sure what he had expected, but feeling like someone was pulling his gut through his arsehole with a sharp rusty hook had certainly never crossed his mind. Jaskier felt like he was falling in a bottomless pit for what felt like hours until his body impacted with a hard cold surface. 

“Oh that looked like a sore landing,” Aiden hissed in sympathy before helping Jaskier up on his shaky legs. It took Jaskier a moment to figure out where he was and for his vision to clear. The world around him was still spinning too fast and when the nervous knot in his stomach finally relaxed, Jaskier bent over in Aiden’s hold and vomited. Aiden clapped his back firmly.

“There, there, first ride’s never easy on the stomach.”

“I hate portals,” Jaskier rasped before heaving what little of his lunch was left to retch up. Aiden, the smug bastard, laughed. 

“Come now bard, on your feet. You’ll feel better shortly, I promise. How shall we split up? You take care of the gifts and I of the supplies?”

At this point Jaskier would have agreed to everything. He nodded, not trusting his stomach to have settled down quite yet, but he diligently fell into step with Aiden. The brisk walk to the city gates turned out to be beneficial to Jaskier. As he slowly recovered his wits, a thought hit the bard. 

“Aiden, may I ask why you took your guitar case with you?”

“That’s for me to know and for you to find out,” Aiden said mysteriously, a cheeky grin tugging at his lips. 

“Alright then, keep your secrets sir witcher.”

__________

Ard Carraigh was heaving with the hustle and bustle of market goers raiding the stalls in preparation of the yule festivities. Jaskier and Aiden kept their hoods up to not attract unwanted attention. Jaskier fisted Triss’ gem in his pocket, reminding himself that there was a way out if things got out of hand. He had to get back to Erica, he  _ would  _ return to her one way or another. Jaskier felt skittish, flinching at every loud noise, his eyes darting over the crowd looking for anyone suspicious. A hand suddenly landing on his shoulder pulled a startled yelp from Jaskier as he turned around, ready to strike. 

“Easy, bard. It’s just me,” Aiden told him, his tone soft and reassuring, “Would you rather we didn’t split up?”

The thought of sticking close to Aiden  _ was  _ comforting to say the least. Jaskier swallowed thickly, his throat suddenly feeling very dry. 

“I’d feel better if I could always see you. In case-” Jaskier could not bring himself to finish his thought, but he did not need to. Aiden understood.

“Of course. What’s the first item on Vesemir’s list?” Aiden produced a crumpled piece of parchment from his pocket. “Animal feed, cheese, butter, flour, yeast, alcohol… can’t forget the alcohol… beans? Hm, alright. Most of this we should be able to find easily.”

“I’ll stay close to you and keep an eye out for presents,” said Jaskier before handing Aiden one of the coin pouches, “that way we’re not wasting too much time.”

“Agreed. Don’t worry, bard. I’ll keep an eye on you. Trust that I’ll always know where you are even if you can’t see me. Witcher training and all.” 

“Thank you, Aiden.”

Jaskier never strayed too far from Aiden, but he eventually relaxed and stopped being on his guard quite so much. He allowed himself to admire the objects on display on the different stalls, ranging from jewellery to books, fine silks and even more elaborate dresses, oils and bath salts. One stall even offered various curiosities from the four corners of the Continent - Geralt would call those merchants charlatans and he would probably be right. Jaskier occasionally looked up from his gift hunting to make sure Aiden was still close. He trusted the witcher to keep his word, but it reassured Jaskier to simply see Aiden. 

Jaskier had given everyone’s gifts much thought. He bought two dolls and a dark blue dress lined with silver thread for Erica. She was the easiest to please. He then bought a bottle of nice Mahakam spirit for Geralt, knowing his friend enjoyed the finer things in life but often could not afford this kind of alcohol himself. Jaskier then acquired a new tobacco pipe crafted from rosewood for Aiden, and for Ciri, a stationary set so she could write to Geralt and Erica when she left in the spring. He purchased an alchemy set for Lambert and Jaskier was particularly proud of this find. Although he had not interacted much with Lambert personally, the younger wolf was known to spend much time in Kaer Morhen’s cellar experimenting with new formulae. For Vesemir Jaskier found a nice bottle of vodka and, because it felt rude not to, Jaskier also bought a fine golden bracelet for Triss with the last of his coin.

Oh. Was that really the last of it?

He still had to buy a gift for Eskel .

“Hey,” Aiden’s voice so close to his ear startled Jaskier, “sorry. How are you getting on?”

Jaskier let out a relieved sigh when he glanced into Aiden’s familiar eyes. With a small smile, he raised the burlap sack he had been carrying around which was now nearly filled to the brim with gifts. 

“All good. I’m all out of coin and still have one gift to go. I didn’t plan this as well as I would have hoped.”

“Allow me to come to your rescue, then,” Aiden smirked and produced a medium-sized pouch filled with coin. Jaskier’s eyes widened at the sight, much to Aiden’s amusement. “I sold my guitar. Turns out it was in good condition and worth more than I thought. I negotiated a good price for it.”

“Aiden,” Jaskier breathed out, only now realising what Aiden had sacrificed, “why did you do that? I thought you sometimes played on the Path?”

“Yes, back when I was travelling alone. Since I met Lambert we tend to stick together as much as we can and we share our coin. The guitar has been catching dust in Kaer Morhen for a while now.”

“Aiden, I can’t acce-”

“You can, I insist.” Aiden dropped the pouch of coin in Jaskier’s hand. “It’s my pleasure. You’ve shown me more kindness than I’ve felt from a human in a while. Besides, you’re spending that coin to spoil the people around you. So please, take it.”

“Oh Aiden, that’s- thank you, thank you so much.” Jaskier beamed at Aiden but resisted the urge to hug him. He hoped he conveyed all his gratitude in his smile. “Well in that case, I’ll spend a bit more on Erica and Ciri, but first I need to find a present for Eskel.”

“Oh aye… kept Eskel’s present for last, did you?” Aiden teased and Jaskier prided himself on his acting skills in that moment. 

“Nothing caught my attention that made me think of Eskel. I don’t actually know what to get him. A book, perhaps, since he likes to read? No, no that is far too predictable. A bottle of nice alcohol? Too generic when I don’t know what he likes. I owe him mine and my daughter’s peace of mind, what could I possibly get him that would show how grateful I am for everything he’s done for us? He doesn’t strike me as someone who wears jewellery or as someone who bothers with fine clothing. No offence meant, of course, it’s just he strikes me as the practical kind - ”

It took Jaskier a second to realise he was rambling, and if Aiden’s widening smirk was anything to go by, the witcher could read Jaskier like an open book. Aiden  _ knew _ . Fuck, but if Aiden knew then maybe the others did as well? 

“Relax, bard. Your secret’s safe with me,” Aiden added with a wink, to Jaskier’s mortification, “if I can give you a tip, though. I overheard Eskel asking Vesemir if he had any cloaks he could lend Eskel for the next season because his one got stolen in Temeria. How about I let you speak to the tailor and I go get more presents for the girls?”

“Aiden, you are my hero.” Aiden preened at Jaskier’s words. 

“You’re not the first man to tell me this.”

__________

Jaskier was pleased. The cloak he had picked for Eskel was beautifully crafted without forfeiting its practicality. Made of warm wool, dyed back, the cloak was fastened with a simple silver clasp - Jaskier figured Eskel would not care much for flourishes, but the silver fastening added a little something to the cloak. The inside of the cloak was lined with hare pelts which would keep Eskel warm but also protect him from the rain. It had cost Jaskier a small fortune all things considered, but seeing the look on Eskel’s face would be worth all the coin spent. 

Aiden and Jaskier agreed to meet near the Golden Goose Inn when they were done. The inn faced the market square and was easily spotted despite the crowd. Clutching the sack containing all of his presents to his chest, Jaskier made his way towards the Golden Goose. The market square began to clear as the evening neared. The sun was disappearing behind the mountain peaks and Jaskier made haste to meet up with Aiden again. Something was off. Jaskier cast what felt like a hundredth look over his shoulder. He had the feeling he was being followed. Wishing to escape the crowd, Jaskier took a sudden turn into a nearby alley to gather his wits. The hairs at the back of his neck bristled when he turned a corner and found himself in a dark empty alley leading nowhere. A dead end.

“Well, well, what have we got here?” an unfamiliar voice spoke. Jaskier swivelled around and found himself face to face with three strange men. One of them held a dagger in his right hand.

“Do my eyes deceive me, isn’t that Dandelion? The little songbird who betrayed Dijkstra and ran from him like a rat.”

Jaskier was rooted to the spot with fear, his heart racing in his chest as he scanned his surroundings for  _ anything  _ that might help him escape with his life. Sweat formed on his forehead and he managed to hide the shaking of his hands by clutching onto the burlap sack for dear life. Shit, why had he not thought about taking a weapon? 

“G-Gentlemen, you’re mistaken…”

“Dijkstra sends his regards, little songbird,” the man holding the dagger said before stepping closer, weapon raised and ready to strike Jaskier right in the chest. Jaskier closed his eyes and resigned himself to his inevitable demise. He whispered a hushed apology to Erica for failing to make it back to her like he had promised. 

“Any last words?” the stranger asked with a cruel sneer. 

“Yeah. Tell your boss that I’ll see him in hell.”

Jaskier let the happy memories of him and his daughter fill his mind as he waited for the blow, hoping at least for a quick death. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I'm sorry for the cliffhanger. I'm not really, though. Maybe just a little bit...


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realise this chapter is late, but it's been a rough two weeks. I'm stuck abroad and I've had my flights home cancelled twice already. The stress got the better of me. Fingers crossed my flights on Friday don't get cancelled. 
> 
> To make up for this longer absence, this chapter is longer. Both angsty and fluffy. Rest assured I haven't lost interest in this story. In fact, it is the only WIP that I have fully outlined so far and the only thing I am looking forward to in these stressful times. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this new update. Stay safe out there.

The blow Jaskier expected, the cold bite of steel as it pierced through tender flesh, never came. Instead, the sound of a familiar voice echoed in the dead-end alley. 

“Can I help you, gentlemen?” Aiden asked deadpan like he had not just interrupted an assassination attempt. Jaskier only dared open his eyes to peek at the scene playing before his eyes because Aiden had come to the rescue. Despite that knowledge, Jaskier’s panic did not subside. If anything, the thought of Aiden getting hurt because of him only intensified his fear. The three men now had their backs turned to him as they advanced on Aiden. The witcher stood his ground, a bored expression plastered on his face but Jaskier guessed that the keen eyes analysed every detail that could be used as an advantage in battle against the assailants. “Three against one? My, aren’t you brave?”

“Three against a mutant. I think our odds are even, witcher,” the leader of the group, the one who had threatened Jaskier with a dagger, corrected in a tone that left no doubt as to how he felt about the witcher standing before them. The disdainful and disgusted tone sent a chill running down Jaskier’s spine, but the fear of dying in this alley was too great for Jaskier to find the energy to defend Aiden’s honour. 

“I wasn’t referring to myself,” Aiden specified, his yellow-green eyes meeting the leader’s gaze, the witcher’s lip curling into a cruel sneer, “You see, at my weakest point, I am the equivalent of ten highly trained soldiers. Whereas you… well,  _ you  _ require two bodyguards to attack this man.” Jaskier had never seen Aiden lose his temper, and yet as Jaskier watched Aiden appraise the three men before him with a cold, calculating gaze, the bard worried he might just find out why the School of the Cat enjoyed the reputation that seemed to precede them wherever they went. “So here’s what’s going to happen. If you don’t get out of my sight by the count of five, I will make you regret the day your mothers gave birth to you and decided against abandoning you by a swamp to be eaten by drowners.”

Aiden drew two daggers from the holsters fixed at his belt and brandished them at the three men. Jaskier watched the two spies, the ones Aiden called the ‘bodyguards’, scamper at the threat of a witcher actually harming them, leaving their leader behind at the first sight of danger. Some bodyguards they made. Jaskier’s attacker, however, did not budge and held Aiden’s gaze as he tightened his grip around his own knife. 

“ _ I’m  _ not afraid of you, witcher,” he taunted, and to his credit, his voice did not waver as he spoke those words in a confident tone. Aiden snickered, the sound devoid of any mirth. 

“Too bad. You really should be.”

Aiden moved so swiftly that Jaskier’s eyes struggled to keep up with the quick movements. Within seconds, the Cat witcher had the spy pinned to the nearby wall, both his daggers pressed to the man’s neck hard enough to draw blood. Jaskier watched the rich red liquid trickle down the length of his attacker’s neck and disappear under the collar of his shirt. The man’s dagger lay on the ground beside them; Aiden had somehow managed to disarm him just before trapping Jaskier’s attacker between himself and the wall. The witcher’s face was mere inches away from the other man’s as he moved one of his daggers so the tip dragged along the spy’s stubbly cheek. Genuine fear flashed in the spy’s eyes as he babbled incoherently, undoubtedly begging Aiden to reconsider his first offer and spare his life. 

“Please, master witcher… please, I’ll leave the bard alone.”

“Close your eyes, Jaskier.”

“Wh-what?” Jaskier’s eyes widened as Aiden’s words sinked in. “No, Aiden stop! He’s not worth it. There  _ has  _ to be another way.”

“Listen to the man,” the spy pinned to the wall begged, a pitiful whimper pushing past his lips as Aiden’s blades dug deeper into the soft skin of his throat, “witcher, I’m a wealthy man. I’ll give you everything you want, gold, titles, women…”

“You think you can buy my pardon, you son of a bitch? You disgust me,” Aiden hissed, his snarl revealing a pair of razor-sharp canines giving him a feral look, “give me  _ one  _ reason why I should spare this pathetic snivelling excuse of a human being.”

Those words, although spoken to Jaskier’s attacker, were really aimed at the bard himself. Aiden was asking Jaskier  _ why  _ he wished to spare the man who had nearly killed him, who had nearly deprived Erica of a father. Jaskier desperately wanted to shout that killing this scumbag was not worth the repercussions Aiden would face. He would not only be hunted down by the soldiers in Ard Carraigh, but he would give  _ every  _ witcher on the Continent a bad name because regular people did not differentiate between Wolves, and Cats, and Bears and the gods knew what else. All people saw were  _ witchers _ , mutants, blood-thirsty and cold-blooded killers. 

Aiden would not listen to any of these arguments, but Jaskier knew just what  _ might  _ convince the Cat witcher to reconsider. 

“This is your chance to prove to the others that you are different,” was all Jaskier said, and while his words may have seemed cryptic to the man currently pinned between a rock and a very solid witcher, Aiden understood. Jaskier could tell by the way the witcher stilled and briefly made eye contact with the bard. Aiden’s hesitation, however temporary, distracted him long enough from Jaskier’s attacker that the man managed to let out a quick but sharp whistle which resonated through the alley. Before either Jaskier or Aiden realised what was happening, something - or rather someone - dropped from a window above Jaskier’s head and landed right in front of him, a dagger in hand and ready to strike. Three more men showed up from the main market square and circled Aiden, blocking their only escape. 

Everything happened too fast after that. 

Aiden slit the throat of the leader of the group, who dropped to the ground with a strangled gurgle. Aiden then flung both his daggers across the alley with such force that they hit one man in the abdomen and the other in the eye, disabling the former and killing the latter instantly. Aiden then reached for his steel sword strapped to his back and there began an elegant dance - leaps, pirouettes and all - that could rival the most skilled dancers in Irene Renarde’s troupes. Aiden swung the sword and decapitated a man with a single clean hit, sending blood splattering against the bare walls and some of it even hitting Jaskier. When the witcher faced the remaining assailant, Jaskier swore he could smell the acrid stench of piss as the man stared at the witcher in disbelief and wet his breeches. 

Jaskier closed his eyes as Aiden killed the last man standing. 

The world slowed down right about then. The noises around him became a distant echo in his mind, the coppery smell of blood overwhelming as soon as Jaskier’s eyes opened again and took in the bloodbath before him. He was panting like he had been the one fighting off these dangerous men, and his hands were shaking. Bile rose in his throat and his stomach churned painfully, forcing Jaskier to bend over and heave. There was nothing left in his stomach to throw up and yet it felt like his very insides wanted to escape through his mouth. He heard his own loud retching noises reverberate against the cold walls of the buildings surrounding him, trapping him in. 

“Jaskier? Jaskier, we need to leave now.”

Jaskier’s head started to spin, too fast, too much. It was like the ground was being pulled from under his feet, pushing him over the precipice. Jaskier was falling, and falling, and falling… for what felt like hours, from a great height, plummeting to his own death. It became increasingly difficult to breathe with his lungs constricting tightly in his chest. All rational thought left him. When Jaskier’s legs finally gave out, his knees hit the ground hard and the painful sensation grounded him somewhat. He was crying, perhaps even screaming. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t…

“ _ Axii _ . Jaskier, listen to the sound of my voice. Calm down.”

Jaskier nearly felt dizzy with how abruptly the spiralling panic stopped. He heard Aiden’s familiar voice in his head, but the sound was fuzzy like Aiden was speaking through a xenovox. Jaskier’s mind recognised the voice and associated it with pleasant memories. That voice felt safe, and yet Jaskier’s body could tell that something unnatural was occurring. It was like Jaskier was swimming in an ice cold lake and was barely able to keep his head above water. The only thing keeping him afloat were Aiden’s commands:  _ listen to my voice, calm down, breathe.  _

And finally. 

“Step through the portal, Jaskier.”

His limbs moved of their own volition. Jaskier had exactly zero control over his own muscles as they urged him to rise to his feet and move towards the chasm which manifested out of thin air.  _ Portal _ , his mind supplied helpfully,  _ step through the portal _ . It was scary, terrifying even, not to be in charge of your own body, not having a say in your actions, having someone else puppeteer him around. Not just anyone, his mind reminded him.  _ Aiden _ . His friend who had just butchered five men in less than five minutes to save Jaskier’s life. 

_ Calm down. Breathe. Step through the portal. Calm down _ . 

Jaskier entered the portal and everything went black. 

__________

“What the  _ fuck  _ happened?”

“Aiden? Aiden, shit, are you okay? Did you get hurt?”

“I told you it was a bad idea letting Jaskier go to Ard Carraigh with him!”

“Fuck off, Geralt, this is not the time for your preaching.”

“Daddy?  **Daddy!** ”

Jaskier groaned. Everything hurt. His head was throbbing and everyone was being so loud that it intensified the ringing in his ears. Someone was shaking him and gently slapping his cheek. When the ringing noise finally subsided, Jaskier started to recognise the voices and put faces to them. Lambert and Geralt arguing and insulting each other, Vesemir urging Jaskier to open his eyes. 

“Daddy!”

His child crying out for him. Jaskier’s eyes snapped open and were it not for Vesemir’s grounding hand pressing down on his chest, the bard would have blindly darted in the direction of his daughter’s voice. His head was in fucking agony but Jaskier could not bring himself to care. Erica needed him. She was crying, screaming. His baby girl was in distress. Jaskier had to make sure this was real. He had to make sure that he had made it back to her,  _ alive _ , like promised. 

“Erica? My baby, my darling girl,” Jaskier croaked, his arms reaching blindly for his child. His eyes struggled to adjust to the bright light, forcing him to close them again when he felt like his head would explode from the pain. 

“... concussed. Eskel, help me get him inside then fetch hot water and clean towels. Triss, would you be so kind and get some potions and salves ready? Geralt, Lambert, make yourselves useful and get me some vodka and needles. He’ll need stitches.”

“ **Daddy!** ”

“And for the love of the gods, someone get that child inside until we’ve patched her father up!”

“No.” Jaskier once again tried, and failed, to rise to a seated position. “No, Erica! My child, where is my child?”

“Right here next to me, Jaskier,” a soft voice assured him. Jaskier chanced opening his eyes again and was greeted by the sight of Eskel crouching before him, blocking the natural light that was so offensive to Jaskier’s eyes with his impossibly broad shoulders. “You had a rough landing, hit your head pretty hard. We need to get you inside and comfo-”

“Erica. Please, I need to see my child. Please, Eskel, please…”

Everything became a blur. Angry voices, Erica’s confused wailing, Eskel’s soft voice… all mingling with each other and turning into white noise in Jaskier’s mind. He wanted nothing more than to sleep off that horrible headache but he needed to see Erica, he needed to -

“Easy, little one, easy,” Eskel gently instructed, “your father will live, I promise, but be careful of his head. Don’t squeeze too tight.”

Jaskier was awake long enough to see his baby girl’s tear-streaked face next to his. It took all the strength left in him to raise his hand and cup her cheek, his thumb wiping away the wayward tears. 

“I love you so much, dear heart.”

Confident Erica was safe, Jaskier succumbed to sleep.

__________

“What the praying  _ fuck  _ happened back there?” Vesemir barked the minute he stepped into the dining hall where Aiden, Lambert and Geralt were already waiting. Eskel and Triss were still upstairs tending to Jaskier’s wounds, while Ciri had been put in charge of keeping Erica out of the bard’s room at least until Eskel and Triss were done. The eldest witcher’s eyes landed on the Cat witcher who looked like he would rather suffer through the trials all over again than face Vesemir’s anger. “You were supposed to conjure that portal outside the city walls.”

“Jaskier was ambushed when we got separated,” Aiden explained, ignoring the murderous looks Geralt sent his way. “Spies, probably Dijkstra’s men. They cornered him in an alley. I tried to diffuse the situation, but-”

“But what, your hand slipped and you accidentally killed a group of spies?” Geralt grated, which earned him a vicious snarl from Aiden. 

“That wasn’t my intention. They tricked me! Three men, two ran away, or so I thought. It was all a ruse. They stayed back and waited for the signal to strike. I thought I was dealing with a single man.”

“You expect me to believe that you were going to, what,  _ let the guy go _ ?”

“I hesitated, alright? I hesitated a moment too long and they took advantage of it.” At this point, Aiden was nearly shouting at Geralt. “I went from handling one man to five in a matter of seconds. They were going to kill Jaskier. Look me in the eye, O white wolf, and tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing to save your friend? Or would you have perhaps called him the bane of your existence and left him to fend for himself?”

“Careful,  _ Cat _ . You’re on thin fucking ice.”

“Geralt, if you’ll keep interrupting then leave this room  **now** ,” Vesemir snapped angrily, and to everyone’s relief, Geralt did take the hint and went back to his silent brooding. “Aiden. Go on, what happened then? And save yourself the passive aggressive commentary,  _ all  _ of you.”

“I killed those men,” Aiden admitted, jaw tense, hands balled into fists, “and when Jaskier saw the massacre, he had a panic attack. I tried to calm him down, but someone alerted the guards and I had very little time. I… I axii’d him and conjured the portal. He couldn’t breathe, Vesemir, nevermind step through a fucking portal.”

Aiden’s confession was followed by a prolonged silence as everyone digested his words. Lambert stepped closer to his lover and discreetly intertwined their fingers in silent support. Geralt huffed disapprovingly, one hand coming up to cover his face as he shook his head in frustration. Vesemir, on the other hand, only heaved a tired sigh. 

“You did what you had to do, boy, and now it’s done. It goes without saying that nobody mentions that last part to Eskel.”

“And what part would that be, exactly?” a baritone voice asked, a dangerous edge to the usually calm and composed tone they were all used to. Eskel stood in the doorway with Triss, his eyes darting between the witchers present in the room as he waited for someone to answer. When no one volunteered, his tone grew sterner. “What are you all hiding from me?”

“Eskel, it’s nothing-”

“Lambert, stop,” Aiden interrupted before Lambert had a chance to come to his defence, “this was my doing and I will tell Eskel myself because I’m fucking done walking on eggshells around your family.”

“What did you do?” Eskel asked, eyeing Aiden warily. The more slender witcher stepped up to him, shoulders slouched and head slightly bowed and tilted to the side. Surrendering. Submitting. Eskel knew that whatever Aiden had to tell him would really,  _ truly  _ anger him. “Out with it, I don’t have all day.”

“I axii’d Jaskier when he was having a panic attack so he would step through the portal. It was the only way to get him back to safety before the guards -”

“Beg your pardon?” Eskel’s tone was calm. Dangerously calm. His brows were knitted in an angry frown as he crossed his arms over his broad chest, his twitching lip the only indicator of just how furious he felt on the inside. He could feel his magic bubbling to the surface, his blood running hot through his veins. Eskel willed himself to calm down. 

“You heard me, Eskel. I meant no harm, I did it to save Jaskier from -”

“You had no  **right** ,” Eskel bellowed, too caught up in his own anger to notice Lambert and Vesemir stepping up to Aiden in case they needed to interfere, “there were other ways to calm him down.”

“Not in such a short timeframe, I had to act quickly,” Aiden reasoned, his voice faltering as Eskel glowered at him. 

“Do you realise what could have happened? Do you not know that axii has the power to damage a human brain beyond repair?”

“Of  _ course  _ I do!” Aiden raised his voice at this point, unable to hear the accusations any longer without standing up for himself, “Do  _ you  _ really think I would’ve risked using axii if I wasn’t one hundred percent confident that it wouldn’t harm Jaskier? Unlike most of you, he’s treated me with  _ nothing  _ but kindness since he got here and I consider him a friend.”

“You couldn’t have possibly predicted how he would react to the sign. What you did was selfish. It was a rushed and imprudent decision. You took a risk, a big one. What if your axii backfired, what then Aiden? He has a daughter, gods be damned! What if because of your actions he forgot all about her? Would you have explained it to Erica, taken responsibility for her?”

“Eskel’s, that’s quite enough. Control yourself, my boy.” Vesemir’s hand came to rest on Eskel’s shoulder. “Jaskier is fine. Safe, if a little concussed. He remembers everything.”

“Vesemir, you know-”

“I do know, pup, I do. I know you better than you know yourself. I also know that Aiden saved Jaskier’s life today and that is something you will come to value once you see past your own experiences. I know I’m grateful for his quick thinking because without it, we wouldn’t have just lost Jaskier today but Aiden too.” Vesemir punctuated his words by gently clapping Eskel’s shoulder affectionately. Eskel jerked away from his mentor, glared at Aiden one last time for good measure before storming out of the room, leaving everyone else behind. 

“Did you feel it?” Triss asked when she was certain Eskel was out of earshot, “his magic… the ground was shaking…”

“Triss, dear child, Eskel’s magic runs very deep indeed,” said Vesemir in a voice that told of just how long a life he had lived and of all the wisdoms he had acquired along the way, “deeper than anyone’s in this room, safe perhaps yours. But the deepest streams, once pushed to the surface, produce the strongest geysers.”

__________

At the top of the stairs Eskel noticed a dim light filtering through the door of Jaskier’s room which had been left ajar. Eskel’s keen ears then picked up the subtle sound of two heartbeats, thudding in near tandem, mingled with Jaskier’s soft humming which created a peaceful melody that washed over Eskel like a calming wave. He recognised the lyrics of an old lullaby and the witcher could not quite explain why his heart fluttered in his chest upon hearing Jaskier’s voice. His feet carried him closer to Jaskier’s door and all the anger and agitation he felt mere minutes earlier vanished when he caught sight of the tranquil scene playing out before his eyes. Eskel smiled softly as he leaned his body against the doorframe, his foot gently nudging the door open to reveal Jaskier and Erica cuddled together in bed, the girl pulled close to Jaskier’s chest and snoring softly in the safety of her father’s arms. Eskel was not trying to be quiet, which was the only reason Jaskier noticed his presence. Cobalt eyes looked up and met Eskel’s honeyed gaze. 

“Forgive my intrusion,” Eskel apologised, keeping his voice down to not wake the sleeping child in Jaskier’s arms, “I heard your voice and I wanted to see how you were holding up.”

“Eskel, my dear friend, how many times,” Jaskier gently chastised, the soft smile on his lips growing fonder as he addressed the witcher, “you never intrude. Please, come in since you’re here. I don’t think I’ll be sleeping much tonight anyway.”

“That wouldn’t be wise, you need to rest some mo-”

“Please, Eskel,” Jaskier interrupted with a raised hand, his tone stern and leaving no room for discussion, “you won’t deny an injured man the pleasure of your company and your conversation?”

And  _ gods be damned _ Eskel was unable to muster the willpower to refuse that request anyway - so he gave in, and who could blame him when Jaskier was looking at him with those bewitching eyes? Eskel stepped into the room, gently shutting the door behind him, before pulling a chair across to Jaskier’s bed. This close up he noticed that the other man was gently carding his fingers through his daughter’s dark hair, which was spread like a halo around her head. Erica’s face was relaxed into a peaceful expression, a nice change from her outburst earlier that afternoon. 

“Did we manage to get the supplies back from Ard Carraigh?” Jaskier asked when Eskel had settled comfortably. The witcher snorted in disbelief.

“That’s what you’re worried about?”

“Why, yes. Just because I ran into some trouble and hit my head a bit harder than recommended for a human of my disposition doesn’t mean that you should all go hungry,” Jaskier reasoned, ignoring Eskel’s raised eyebrows. 

“Aiden managed to get the supplies through the portal, you can put your mind at ease.”

Jaskier heaved a relieved sigh, satisfied with the answer. His eyes darted back to Erica when the girl shifted in her sleep, but thankfully she did not wake up. 

“She wouldn’t leave my side,” Jaskier whispered, his fingers brushing wayward strands of dark locks out of Erica’s face, “refused to return to her own bed. Not that I’m complaining. The gods only know how long she’ll stay this sweet and affectionate. If I had it my way she would never grow past this age.”

“You and your daughter share a deep bond,” said Eskel, “it was no easy feat getting her to leave the room while we stitched you up. I wouldn’t worry about her changing too much. There won’t be a force strong enough to keep you and your daughter apart.”

“I hope you’re right, dear witcher.” The shimmer in Jaskier’s eyes caught Eskel’s attention. He heaved a shaky sigh, swallowing thickly as he gazed at his sleeping daughter. “My poor darling. I promise I’d come back to her but neither of us expected things to go the way they did. She must’ve been worried sick.”

“She was. So was I,” Eskel admittedly in a small voice, which had Jaskier’s eyes flickering to the witcher at those words. 

“You know, were it not for Aiden, I wouldn’t be here holding my child in my arms and talking to my dear friend. He saved my life.”

“I suppose he did,” Eskel relented half-heartedly, biting the inside of his cheek so he wouldn’t blurt out words he might regret later. He really did not want to talk about Aiden right now, but Jaskier had other ideas. 

“I hope that no one made him feel guilty for my current condition.”

Jaskier shot Eskel a knowing look and the witcher had never felt more transparent than in that moment. It was like the bard could read right through him, like there were no secrets between them. Eskel cleared the itch in his throat and rose from his chair, heading for the fireplace where he added some kindling to the flames and stoked the fire back to life. It was a pitiful attempt at a diversion and Jaskier was not fooled by it.

“Eskel? Look at me.” 

“You shouldn’t worry so much, Jaskier. You need to rest. You’re safe now, that’s all that matters.”

“To me it also matters that Aiden is treated fairly,” Jaskier maintained. Even though there was no heat to his voice, Eskel nearly flinched at the accusation. “And it matters to me that you’re honest with me, Eskel. I heard people raise their voices downstairs.”

“It was nothing-”

“For all your qualities and virtues, you’re a terrible liar.” Jaskier’s words cut through Eskel like butter. “I can’t force you to share what happened down there. I’m sure you have your reasons if that’s the case. Just know that I won’t tolerate anyone being disrespectful to Aiden, because… well, because I am perhaps partly responsible for how things panned out.”

“No!” Eskel snapped. He dropped the fire poker in his haste, wincing when the tool landed on the floor with a loud clang. His eyes instantly went to Erica, who did not even budge despite the loud noise. Eskel made a conscious effort to keep his voice down after that. “No. You aren’t responsible for any of this.”

“How do you know? You don’t know what happened.”

“You were  _ attacked _ , you were weaponless. Aiden, he…” Eskel pawed at his scars nervously, “even if killing those men was justified, even if Aiden killed them in self-defence, it doesn’t excuse what…  _ how  _ he dealt with your panic attack.”

Jaskier’s features softened as realisation dawned on him. Eskel stayed where he was, near the fireplace and far away from Jaskier. 

“Is that what your outburst was about?” Jaskier questioned softly, worried that he might spook Eskel if he was too blunt. Eskel nodded, not trusting his voice. “Axii, isn’t it? I’ve seen Geralt use it once on Roach when the poor beast got spooked by a wyvern. I remember being fascinated by it and asking Geralt all these questions, but he refused to give me a clear answer. I put it down to him being his usual boorish self, but - perhaps there is more to his reaction that I thought.”

Eskel swallowed past the lump in his throat. He didn’t owe Jaskier an explanation, much less a confession. Even if they were friends, he was allowed his private thoughts and memories. Eskel tried to tell Jaskier all this, but his words caught in his throat and he felt like he might choke on them if he forced them out. Memories he had wished to forget resurfaced, making Eskel fidgety. He didn’t owe Jaskier an explanation, and yet he wanted him to understand this part of himself. That same part of Eskel’s mind which bristled at the thought of being known also craved Jaskier’s approval, his compassion and his kindness. 

“Axii is a dangerous sign,” Eskel croaked, his voice tight as he mustered the courage to make eye contact with Jaskier, taking comfort in the reassuring smile he saw on the handsome face, “it allows us to control the mind of other beings. It grants us access to a creature’s subconscious. It hypnotises them, submits them to our will. Axii is the last sign we’re taught because it’s the one that requires the most energy and the most control from the caster.”

Eskel paused, gathering the courage to continue his tale. He decided to take a seat mostly to hide his anxious fidgeting from Jaskier. He took a composing breath, hoping to drain the tension in his shoulders and jaw. He did not succeed. 

“It’s an incredibly powerful sign. Many witchers I’ve come across use it arbitrarily, often to con honest people out of their coin when they feel that they’re owed more than the price they’re given for a contract. My opinion is that we should never have been taught it in the first place, but a fat lot of good that’ll do us now.”

“You’re mad at Aiden for using it on me,” Jaskier guessed correctly. Eskel was relieved he did not have to get the words out himself. “Why? I’m fine. Were it not for Aiden's quick thinking the guards would’ve caught us and we’d be trialled for murder.”

"Aiden's  _ quick thinking _ could also have left you with irreparable brain damage. Amnesia, paralysis, psychotic breakdowns. Jaskier, you have  _ no idea  _ just how lucky you are to be sitting here with all your wits about you."

The silence that followed was loaded with meaning. Eskel was leaning forward, arms resting on his legs and hands clasped between his knees. He was staring blankly at the wall opposite where he was sitting, lost in thought but more specifically avoiding Jaskier's gaze. The bard, on the other hand, inhaled softly when he managed to connect the dots, as Eskel should've suspected he would. 

"I may not know, but  _ you  _ certainly do. Don't you, my dear witcher? You have the look of a man who speaks from experience."

"I always had a gift for signs. They were always exceptionally strong when I was a young boy and they only became more powerful over the years. My second year on the Path, I was perhaps eighteen or nineteen. Young, inexperienced, but what I didn't have in skill I made up for with enthusiasm. A farmer asked me to find his wife and child who'd wandered into the woods and hadn't come home in a few days. I found them only a couple of miles out of the village. The infant died of hypothermia and the mother was beside herself with grief. I used Axii to get her back to her husband…"

"Oh dear gods Eskel, that must've been so difficult for a boy your age to see this." Jaskier's compassion was misplaced. Eskel was not the hero, but indeed the monster in this tale. And yet, he allowed himself to bask in Jaskier's kindness for a while longer before he finished telling his story. 

"I underestimated just how devastating the effects of Axii were on the fragile minds. I led the grieving mother back to her husband and when I lifted the spell, she… she couldn't even remember her name, nevermind that she was married to this man. She forgot everything."

Eskel paused when he felt his throat tighten. He had not thought about this contract for a very long time, but the shame and the self-loathing his past actions triggered in him over eighty years later was unbearable. 

"I didn't just ruin the life of this innocent young woman with this sign, but that of her husband too. You should've seen the way he looked at her when they were reunited. Like she was the light of his entire life. Snuffed out, just like that, all because I rushed her through her grieving process."

Eskel heard Jaskier shift in bed, but before he could chastise the bard for exerting himself so early after his concussion, Jaskier was kneeling before him. Long, lute-calloused fingers wrapped around Eskel's wrists, tugging slightly and drawing the witcher's eyes to Jaskier's face. Blue eyes shimmered faintly with emotion and when they met Eskel's gaze something inside the witcher shifted. 

"Eskel, my darling witcher. You were nineteen years old when this happened. Young and foolish, inexperienced. This woman had just lost her child. I cannot even begin to conceive the pain, both mental and physical, she suffered in the hours that followed this tragedy. It wasn't  _ you  _ that tipped the scale towards insanity, dear gentle Eskel. This woman would've gone mad regardless of whether or not you showed up. Trauma does strange things to the mind and temporary amnesia is the brain's way if coping with shock. You  _ saved  _ her, you brought her to a familiar and safe space. For all you know she recovered her memory in full with the help of her husband's love and devotion."

"What if she didn't?" Eskel asked, his voice a rasp barely above a whisper, emotion lacing his tone. "What if I'm the monster in her story? She would've been fine had I not come along."

"Or dead, more likely," Jaskier deadpanned, pulling a startled huff from Eskel. "Think about it, Eskel. Most forests of the Continent are prowling with wolves. They would've finished the job eventually had you not come along."

"I suppose you're right." Eskel heaved a tired sigh, his eyes fluttering shut as he leaned into Jaskier's warm touch. "I was angry that Aiden would risk this happening to you."

"Eskel, look at me." This time, the witcher complied. Jaskier smiled, that gentle smile that made Eskel's heart flutter, and his hands came up to cup Eskel's face. A surprisingly rough thumb traced his scars, making him squirm. "Look at me. I'm fine. The picture of health, if a bit shaken. And you're here, with me, with Erica. I'm not scared of these men finding us anymore, not as long as you're by our side because you're a good man, Eskel, not a bad bone in your body. And you were a good man back then too when you saved that grieving mother."

Jaskier let go of his face to take Eskel's hands in his once again, bringing them to his lips and placing a kiss on the back of Eskel's fists. The gesture was so innocent, yet so intimate at the same time that Eskel turned a bright shade of crimson. 

"Jaskier-" 

"Daddy?" Erica mumbled from where she was wrapped up in her blankets on the bed. Jaskier was instantly on his feet, leaving Eskel feeling bereft after being deprived of Jaskier's touch so quickly. 

"Darling, hey daddy's right here," he whispered softly to Erica, his fingers carding soothingly through her hair, "go back to sleep sweetheart it's very early."

"Wanna hug, daddy."

"I'll be taking my leave," Eskel announced, itching to leave the room as quickly as he could and take care of a certain… issue Jaskier's action had occasioned. Jaskier, on the other hand, looked torn. 

"I'll be in the library tomorrow," Jaskier told him, and it was clearly meant as an invitation. Eskel wasn't sure what to make of it. Then again, it was becoming increasingly difficult to make sense of  _ anything  _ when all the blood supply was being diverted to his cock.

"Alright. See you, Jaskier."

Eskel didn't run until he had left Jaskier's room and shut the door behind him. 

__________

  
  


"I picked up something today that I think will brighten your mood," Lambert announced before plopping onto the mattress next to Aiden, eyebrows wiggling suggestively. The Cat witcher hummed absent-mindedly in response. Lambert produced his surprise from behind his back and dangled it above his and Aiden's heads. "Up here."

"What?" Aiden frowned at Lambert and then, noticing the raised arm, looked up with sigh. "A mistletoe? That's very sweet kitten, but I'm not in the mood tonight."

"It's not for  _ us,  _ dumbass," Lambert punctuated his words by rolling his eyes, "it's so we can get started on our 'get-Eskel-and-Jaskier-together' plan."

Aiden's face softened but Lambert could sense the reticence emanating from his lover. What happened in Ard Carraigh was bothering him, not because of the blood on his hands, but because Lambert had filled him in on Eskel's  _ reasons  _ for reacting the way he did. Lambert had always both admired and been puzzled by Aiden's tendency to care too much. It was no different this time. Lambert couldn't understand how Aiden could empathise with Eskel when Eskel was such an ass to him. All things considered Lambert shouldn't be that surprised - after all, Aiden's empathy was one of the things that made him one of the best men Lambert had ever met. 

"Maybe we should get started on the 'Aiden-keeps-a-low-profile' plan first. Your entire family hates me, I don't want to give Jaskier a reason to agree with them."

"Perfect, so we're doing this," Lambert announced, ignoring Aiden's complaints. For all his talents and skills, Aiden couldn't refuse his precious kitten anything and  _ yes _ , Lambert was perfectly content taking advantage of this - especially when there was a chance that these preparations would get Aiden to smile again. "We need a code name so nobody suspects anything. Suggestions are welcome."

"Hmm… how about Jaskel? Or Eskier? " Lambert grinned, pleased that Aiden was playing along, if a little reluctantly. 

"Code Jaskel it is. Now all we need to do is hang these bad boys everywhere. I refuse to speak to Merigold, so we won’t be asking her for help."

"I know, Lambert," Aiden nosed Lambert's hair, breathing in the familiar scent of his lover and letting it wash over him. 

"She pisses me off so much." 

"I know, Lambert."

__________

One week before the winter solstice, Kaer Morhen and its surrounding valley was covered in a thick layer of powdery snow. It happened overnight, throwing the witchers' routine upside down. Training was cancelled until the weather had cleared up. Vesemir took the opportunity to focus on Ciri's theory lessons - something the young girl vehemently fought against and Vesemir was getting too old for this kind of temper tantrum anyway. However, when Erica asked if she could join the lessons, Ciri's foul mood seemed to settle. Erica was a quick and curious learner, forever asking questions about the monsters Vesemir was telling them about, listening with avid interest to his anecdotes that Ciri had heard many times before. 

Vesemir had asked the others to make sure the animals were comfortable. Eskel moved the goats and the chickens into an empty stall in the stables to shield them from the cold. Geralt would then help Eskel fix whatever needed fixing so the animals survived the harsh winter conditions. They could afford to lose one or two goats and chickens, but the horses were more valuable. Replacing a horse would cost them a small fortune and at the start of the season none of them would have enough coin to be able to afford it, especially not with the supply run they had to make halfway through. Lambert and Aiden were patching up a particularly vicious leak in the kitchen that had supposedly appeared overnight. Vesemir was no fool - he knew that Lambert had made up that excuse so he and Aiden did not have to team up with Eskel and Geralt. The thought pulled an exasperated sigh from Vesemir. Their stupid rivalry was making cohabitation with Aiden more difficult than it needed to be. 

Vesemir was getting too old for their childish feuds. For every step either Eskel or Geralt were taking in the right direction,  _ something  _ came up which set them back three steps. He needed to have a serious conversation with Geralt and Eskel about their behaviour. Not today, however. Teaching two easily-distracted little girls was its own kind of challenge and Vesemir would not have much energy left for a lecture after spending all morning reading out of  _ Brother Adalbert’s Bestiary _ . 

It was difficult enough to stay awake as Ciri read a passage about forktails out loud for Erica’s sake. 

“Note, however, that to lure a beast into a trap, first its tastes and behaviors ye must know. As for forktails, bait them thusly: pound a stake in the soil, bind a goat to it, then hide ye in nearto shrubbery posthaste. The beast, lured by the caprine odor, will without fail soon come.”

“ _ Goat? _ ” Erica exclaimed, unable to conceal her shock. The high-pitched noise pulled Vesemir out of his meditative state and he was met with the sight of a very distraught little girl staring at him with eyes the size of saucers. “Uncle Vesemir, why do you use a goat? Goats are nice!”

“Because forktails like to eat goat,” Ciri explained matter-of-factly, but it did not appease sweet Erica’s mind. 

“So will Lil’Bleater become forktail food, too?”

“No, child,” Vesemir reassured her with a paternal smile, “Eskel would never let anything happen to Lil’Bleater. She’s his favourite goat. Carry on, Ciri. How do you fight a griffin?”

“If it is a griffin ye seek to slay,” Ciri did not need to read from the page as she recited the following passage from memory, a proud smile adorning her lips, “take ye buckthorn from deep water. The might stench of this herb is to griffins like fresh-roasted meat of the primest sort, and so come they will forthwith, though faraway they might be.”

“Very good, child,” Vesemir praised. The old witcher was convinced that Ciri had something akin to an eidetic memory. “For all your complaining, you’re doing really well with your lessons, pup.”

A soft knock interrupted their lesson. “Door’s open,” Vesemir notified whoever was behind the door. It was Triss Merigold who stepped into the library, beaming when she saw Vesemir and instantly going to place an affectionate kiss on his cheek. 

“Sorry for interrupting, Vesemir,” she apologised in her melodic voice. This close up Vesemir caught a whiff of her sweet-smelling perfume - rosewater and winterbloom. “It’s noon already and I promised the girls I would help decorate the keep for the yule celebrations.”

“Decorating?” Erica cried out excitedly as she bounded on her feet. “Please uncle Vesemir, can we help Miss Merigold decorate? Please?”

“Please, uncle Vesemir,” Ciri joined in, both girls now staring at him with pleading eyes and protruding lower lips. How was he supposed to deny those adorable she-devils? Gods, was he growing soft in his old age. Judging by the knowing look he received from Triss, the sorceress agreed with him. 

“Very well,” Vesemir breathed out a resigned sigh, “but tomorrow we’re moving to necrophages.”

“I  _ hate  _ necrophages,” Ciri complained, but Vesemir’s pointed stare dissuaded her from voicing any further objections. “Fine. See you later, uncle Vesemir.”

“Bye, uncle Vesemir!” Erica stepped up to Vesemir’s chair and wrapped her skinny arms around his muscular leg, squeezing it briefly with all her might before following Ciri out of the library. Vesemir would never admit just how much the innocent gesture warmed his old worn heart.

“She’s a sweet girl, isn’t she?” Triss remarked about Erica, a fond smile playing on the sorceress’ lips. 

“That she is. Too sweet for a witcher’s world,” Vesemir relented, the warm feeling in his chest giving way to melancholy, “it feels wrong teaching her about forktails, griffins and necrophages. Ciri is tough where Erica is too sensitive.”

“You say this as if that’s a bad thing,” Triss remarked with only a hint of accusation noticeable in her tone, “she’s sensitive, so what? I don’t think you should discourage that quality in Ciri, or in Geralt, Eskel and Lambert. Especially not in Lambert. His manners are dreadful, Vesemir!”

“Lambert’s never had it easy,” Vesemir defended his youngest pup instinctively, “insulting you is his way of not getting attached and not getting hurt. He was a beaten child. That’s not the kind of trauma one outgrows easily.”

“You’re enabling him, Vesemir. And defending him still, after all these years.” Triss tutted, but thankfully she knew to drop the subject when she was in the lead, “but enough of that. I meant to ask you, did you see the mistletoe branches hanging around the castle?”

“I did. I assume they’re your work?”

“Well, no that’s what’s perplexing me,” Triss admitted, her tone growing pensive, “they appeared overnight. I didn’t even think about hanging mistletoe in a keep full of emotionally-constipated witchers.”

“Perhaps it was the bard?”

“That’s very possible, but where would he have found mistletoe? None of the trees that grows within these walls grows them and he hasn’t left the castle since the incident in Ard Carraigh.”

“Why don’t you ask him?” Vesemir suggested as he rose from his chair. The joints in his hips creaked in protest, making him hiss. “Gods, there’s no dignity in old age. Mark my words, Triss, dear child.”

“Oh Vesemir,” the sorceress offered her arm in support, and if Vesemir accepted it graciously solely because he enjoyed Triss’ caring company, well that was nobody’s business but his own, “don’t say things like that. You’re in great shape for a man your age. You don’t look a day past two centuries.”

Vesemir chuckled warmly at Triss’ words.

“If you think that flattery will earn special treatment, then you are absolutely right child.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovely readers <3
> 
> First of all, I want to apologise for my prolonged absence. As I mentioned in my previous note, I was stuck abroad away from home for a while and my motivation and inspiration really took a hit. I am back home now (yaaay) and I have sorted out my dissertation topic for my postgrad, so I am officially back with a vengeance.
> 
> This chapter was meant to be longer, but I didn't want to leave you guys hanging any longer. So this week I will be posting 2 (!!) chapters. The next chapter I'll be working on is the Yule chapter (only 2 months after christmas, no biggie). 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy this filler <3 Thanks, as always, for your support, kudos, comments, likes and bookmarks.

On the eve of yule, Jaskier knocked on Triss Merigold’s door late in the morning after making sure that Geralt was busying himself somewhere else. It was no secret that the white wolf had taken the habit of sharing the sorceress’ bed on most nights since Triss’ arrival. The last thing Jaskier wanted was to walk in on his best friend getting down to business with a sorceress. Once was enough, thank you very much, although admittedly Jaskier was a lot less worried about Triss turning him into an ugly toad, something Yennefer would have had no qualms doing. Still, better safe than sorry. 

“Jaskier?” Triss greeted him in a warm voice when she opened the door, “What a lovely surprise. Come in, please.”

“I won’t take up much of your time, Miss Merigold,” Jaskier assured her as he stepped into her room, keeping a respectful distance away from her bed and vanity. Growing up in a noble household had taught Jaskier that as a man, one should never come too close to what may be considered a woman’s ‘dressing’ area - his mother used to tell him that it was very rude. Whether that was just a quirk of his mother’s or a universally recognised truth, Jaskier was nothing if not a gentleman (a gentleman who knew not to piss off a sorceress). 

“Please Jaskier, take all the time you need. Do you have any idea how boring the days are for a woman in this dusty keep? I enjoy your company a great deal, bard. It’s a nice change from those brutes out there.” Triss chuckled at her own comment, flicking her hair as she locked the door behind them for added privacy. When she turned to face Jaskier, she was wearing a well-meaning smile on her face. “How are you feeling? How’s the head?”

“Thanks to your expertise, I barely felt any pain at all in the past week. Well, you expertise and the herbal blend you recommended,” Jaskier added with a wink. Triss chuckled once again, the sound melodious and crystalline, and reverberating against the walls of the guest room which Triss had done her very best to turn into a homey and welcoming space. 

“I’m glad to hear that. I can barely see your scar. Eskel’s stitching was very clean,” Triss commented in an admirative tone, “I’ll have to compliment him on his excellent work.”

“I was fortunate to have both of you looking after me. I cannot thank you enough and I feel like I’ll never be able to repay you as it is. Which is why it is probably very cheeky of me to come to you with requesting yet another favour.”

“What do you need?” Triss did not wait for Jaskier’s answer before heading to her vanity. She took a seat and began running her wide-tooth comb through the mane of chestnut locks cascading down her back. Jaskier was in admiration over how soft and shiny Triss’ hair looked. She always kept it down, which not only showed off the love and attention that went into her luscious curls, but also served as a reminder of her status as a free woman. 

“I managed to get the gifts for yule and thankfully Aiden managed to get them back from Ard Carraigh, but I have nothing to wrap them with. I was wondering if you had any ideas?”

“Oh!” Triss exclaimed excitedly, a toothy smile illuminating her face, “I can’t wait to see everyone’s reaction when they unwrap their presents. My first thought would’ve been paper or soft leather, perhaps. I have sole silks that you could use to wrap Erica and Ciri’s presents, if you like.”

“That sounds perfect,” said Jaskier, “you wouldn’t happen to have a supply of soft leather by hand?”

“Unfortunately I don’t. But,” Triss added after a brief contemplative silence, “I could ask Geralt to get me some. I’ll come up with an excuse for why I need thel. I’ll have them this evening.”

“Fantastic. Thank you, Miss Merigold. I would’ve asked Aiden, but I think he’s been actively avoiding me since Ard Carraigh.”

“Please, call me Triss,” the sorceress corrected him, “Miss Merigold makes me feel like I’m back at court. And I’m sorry to hear that. You and Aiden seemed to be getting along well.”

“I like spending time with him. He’s also great with Erica and she loves spending time with him. I would hate for their relationship to suffer just because Aiden’s decided to avoid me.”

“Do you know his reasons for this sudden change in behaviour?”

Jaskier let out a frustrated sigh. He had given this a lot of thought in the past couple of days, wondering why whenever he and Aiden crossed paths the witcher would actively look away and hurry past him without as much as a fleeting greeting in passing. Jaskier could not make any sense of it. Aiden refused to acknowledge his attempts at conversation at meals beyond a grunt or a hum. It was like talking to Geralt! Jaskier had no idea what he had done to be so rudely dismissed by Aiden, whom he had come to see as a friend. 

“If only I knew. I have a feeling that it has something to do with the incident in Ard Carraigh. I wondered if he may have been  _ told  _ to stay away from me, and if that’s the case, I’ll need to have a serious talk with Geralt, Eskel and Vesemir.”

“Hmm.” Triss gently put her comb down and picked up a brush with a rounded head which Jaskier guessed was made of mink hair. The sorceress used the brush to reapply her powdery rouge to her soft cheeks at the bridge of her nose. “That might well be the case, but it’s very unlikely in my opinion that any of this was Vesemir’s doing. He’s just as exasperated by the Aiden situation as you seem to be, albeit for different reasons. My money’s on Geralt or Eskel… with a tendency to lean towards Eskel, if I’m honest.”

“Yes, yes, because of his past experience with axii.” Jaskier huffed an irritated sigh. “While it was a traumatic experience for him, I don’t see why it should bleed into my friendship with Aiden.”

“That was not necessarily the explanation I would’ve given, but sure, let’s go with that.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Jaskier did not miss the knowing smirk tugging at her full lips and crinkling the corners of her jade-coloured eyes, shining with mirth. Triss switched her round-headed brush for a finer, slightly angled one which the sorceress used to apply a line of charcoal on each of her eyelids. 

“It’s no secret that Eskel has grown very fond of you and Erica. And he’s probably the one with the biggest sense of responsibility out of all of them. And, if you pardon me for being forward, you certainly seem to have developed a keen interest in the handsome quiet witcher yourself.”

“Oh.” Jaskier’s face fell as his heart skipped a beat in his chest, his stomach twisting uncomfortably as he was reminded of Eskel’s reaction when Jaskier kissed the inside of his wrist and the stab in the chest Jaskier had felt when the witcher failed to turn up at the library the next day. He was not sure what he was most embarrassed about the blatant rejection, or the fact that Triss had noticed his infatuation and he would now have to tell her that he had gone in way over his head, once again. “I, uh - Eskel and I haven’t talked since… well, that’s unimportant.”

“What happened?” Triss asked absent-mindedly, but when she noticed Jaskier’s tight jaw and pursed lips as he battled with his own disappointment and fear of rejection, her features softened. “I’m sorry to pry. We don’t have to talk about it.”

“Thank you.” Jaskier let out a relieved breath he did not know he was holding. The ache in his heart did not subside, however. Jaskier could not remember the last time his advances had been so obviously rejected. When would he learn not to entrust his heart to witchers? “I appreciate your help with everything, Triss.”

“Always happy to help.” 

Triss added the finishing touch to her make-up by applying some rouge to her lips with her fingers before rising from her seat and walking up to Jaskier. When she was close enough, she tentatively pulled him into a hug, her soft arms wrapping around his shoulders and one of her hands resting on the back of his head and gently guiding him to rest his face in the crook of her neck. Jaskier was quick to return the gesture, craving this innocent physical comfort, by wounding his arms respectfully around her waist. The faint smell of roses washed over him in calming waves. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that it was his mother hugging him. 

“You’re a good man, Jaskier,” Triss whispered to him, “Kind-hearted, thoughtful and sensitive. You’re precisely what those coarse witchers need. Please, don’t give up on them. No one else will ever treat them with as much humanity and yet the gods know how much they crave and need it.”

Jaskier finally detangled himself from Triss, pulling away from her enough to offer what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

“I’ll do my best, Triss. I give you my word.”

Triss eventually let go of Jaskier. He parted with a quick peck to Triss’ cheek which pulled a delighted giggle from her. Just before Jaskier reached the door, he heard the sorceress call his name again almost as an afterthought. He stopped in his tracks and cast a look over his shoulder at Triss, noticing the pensive frown creasing her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. 

“Yes?”

“I meant to ask you, did you hang that mistletoe around the castle?”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow at the sorceress’ question. 

“I’m afraid I can’t take credit for that. I assumed you were behind it. A lovely idea, by the way. I was always fond of that tradition.”

“Jaskier, it wasn’t me that put them up. And if it wasn’t you, then… I have to assume that one of the  _ witchers  _ did it.” Triss and Jaskier stared at each other for several heartbeats before breaking into laughter. Even the notion of any of the witchers putting up these branches of mistletoe around the castle was unthinkable at best. And yet - 

“How very curious indeed,” said Triss when she had finally calmed down, catching a wayward tear with her finger, “I truly can’t explain it. There was no magic involved, or I would’ve sensed it.”

“Perhaps we should not be questioning small blessings, but be grateful for them. Mother used to say that it’s the small blessings in life that sustain us. I’ll see you later, Triss.”

_________

Jaskier took Triss’ words to heart. He decided that she was right; he could not give up on the witchers. They were so unaccustomed to anyone showing them any kind of humanity that whenever they were at the receiving end of kind words or well-meaning gestures, the witchers’ first reaction was to bristle, hiss and run for the hills. Jaskier reminded himself not to take their reactions to his friendship too personally. Instead of allowing the witchers to retreat into their shell, Jaskier should be encouraging them to embrace and accept his affections. What better time to force his friendship upon them than the yule celebrations? 

Jaskier settled on seeking Aiden out first and ask him  _ what the fuck  _ his sudden change of attitude was all about. Only once Jaskier and Aiden had settled the matter of why Aiden had been ignoring him for the best part of a week, Jaskier would apologise to Eskel for taking liberties and kissing him without warning. As much as it would hurt Jaskier to be rejected - again - losing Eskel’s friendship altogether because of a misunderstanding would hurt him much more. Jaskier managed to corner Aien in the kitchen some time in the afternoon. To make sure there was no mistaking his intentions, Jaskier stood in the doorway barring Aiden’s only way out.

“We need to talk,” Jaskier announces and there’s something really special about watching all the colour drain from Aiden’s face as he’s taken by surprise, like Jaskier just interrupted… something or other. 

“Jaskier, dear gods you - “ Aiden did not finish his sentence, instead pursing his lips to actively stop himself from uttering his next words. Jaskier made an educated guess.

“... startled you?” Jaskier grinned impishly at his feat, “and here I thought that it was impossible for a human to sneak up on witchers.”

"What, uh- what do you want to talk about?" Jaskier did not fail to notice the way Aiden ignored his previous statement. The bard made a vague gesture with his hand. 

"Oh, nothing all too serious," Jaskier said before inspecting his fingernails in a seemingly disinterested manner, "I was just curious to know why you've been avoiding me since we came back from Ard Carraigh?" 

Aiden shifted his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other, his eyes darting around the room as if looking for an alternative escape route. Jaskier almost felt bad for ambushing Aiden. Almost… 

"I, uh, I haven't been avoiding -" 

"Don't give me that ghoul shite," Jaskier interrupted before Aiden could dismiss him with whatever excuse he was about to offer, "You've been ignoring me and I demand to know why. Is it because of something I did? Something I said?" 

"No Jaskier, nothing like that," Aiden was still avoiding Jaskier's gaze, "I was… I'm sorry you felt like I was purposefully ignoring you. I just wanted to give you some space."

“Space? What made you think I wanted space?” Jaskier stepped further into the kitchen and went to stand several feet away from Aiden, hoping that this action would encourage the Cat witcher to look at him, at least. “Aiden, did someone tell you to stay away from me?”

Aiden shook his head.

“No. It’s my decision, Jaskier. I thought that giving you space was the right thing to do after I hypnotised you into doing my bidding.” Aiden’s tone turns bitter as he faces away from Jaskier, his jaw set and his nostrils flaring as the Cat witcher tries to control his breathing. Jaskier, who had enough of Aiden’s attitude, reached out and grabbed the witcher’s arm in one last desperate attempt to catch Aiden’s attention. 

“Aiden, please. Look at me.” Jaskier waited until Aiden complied with his request, yellow-green eyes swimming with uncertainty and fear of rejection as they met Jaskier’s gaze. The bard’s heart went out to the witcher and he offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Aiden, I’m not blaming you. I’m not mad at you for what happened. You saved my life. You’re the reason I managed to keep the promise I made to my daughter. Please don’t ever think that I resent you for helping me get back to Erica.”

“You saw me massacre five men, how are you not terrified of me?” The bewildered expression coupled with the concerned tone nearly pulled an amused chuckle from Jaskier. This pathological tendency to see themselves as nothing but monstrous killers seemed to be a common feature shared by  _ every  _ witcher on the continent. Jaskier decided to remedy this if it was the last thing he ever did. 

“I saw you come to my rescue. I saw you hesitate to kill a man when I called upon your ability for mercy. I saw you act in self-defence when you were being surrounded by men who would not have hesitated to kill us if you‘d given them the chance to.”

All Aiden could do was stare - wide-eyed and slack-jawed - as his min strained to comprehend what Jaskier was trying to tell him. Jaskier noticed the way Aiden’s Adam’s apple bobbed as the witcher swallowed past the lump in his throat. Insecurity and doubt were reflected in the yellow-green eyes, but Jaskier made sure to soften his features as he held Aiden’s gaze. Jaskier wanted to make it perfectly clear that he wasn’t scared of Aiden, because he wasn’t. In fact, he had never felt safer. 

“I want you to teach me how to defend myself. Nothing too complicated or elaborate, just the basics. That way if I’m ever in that situation again I won’t have to rely on anyone else’s protection but my own.” Jaskier watched Aiden’s eyes grow comically  _ wider _ with an amused smile. 

“Jaskier, I - I’m flattered, but… maybe you should ask Geralt or Eskel to -”

“I don’t want to ask Eskel or Geralt, I’m asking you,” Jaskier interrupted Aiden, “please Aiden, will you teach me how to defend myself?”

There they were again, the uncertainty, the spark of doubt, flashing in Aiden’s eyes and creeping onto his face in the form of creased brows and pursed lips. Jaskier didn’t back down, not when he could feel that he was close to a breakthrough.  _ Don’t give up on them _ . Aiden took a deep breath, his shoulders slumping as he heaved a resigned sigh.

“Yeah, alright. As soon as the snow melts…”

“We don’t need to wait that long. The dining hall will be spacious enough for what I have in mind.”

“The… dining hall?” Aiden challenged quizzically, “I don’t think Vesemir will appreciate me teaching you to wield a sword in the dining hall.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, I wasn’t meaning  _ swords _ ,” Jaskier smiled knowingly at Aiden’s confused expression, “I want you to show me some moves with your daggers. I won’t be carrying a sword at my hip all the time, that’s just asking for a fight. A dagger, on the other hand? Easily concealed, easily slipped inside my boot or the lining of my doublet.”

“Oh. Right, that makes sense yes. Well, uh, if you’re absolutely certain that you want me to teach you.”

“Positive, my dear friend,” Jaskier assured him, “shall we begin our lessons after yule?”

“Sounds good to me.”

Jaskier’s face broke into a pleased smile, a gesture that was only shyly returned. Aiden’s jas was still tight, but at least his frown had dissipated which Jaskier considered a win. 

“Perfect. Glad we managed to clear that up. See you later, Aiden.” Pleased with how the confrontation went, Jaskier turned his back on the witcher and headed for the door. His eyes caught sight of an unexpected item hanging from the doorway. “Another mistletoe? Say Aiden, they’ve been popping up everywhere around the keep these past few days, did you notice?”

“Hm?” Aiden looked up at the offending plant and shrugged his shoulders noncommittally, “Huh. Never even noticed that thing hanging there. You say they’re everywhere?”

“Yes… pretty hard to miss, too.”

“Very curious indeed.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes at the Cat, not quite believing that a highly trained witcher wouldn’t notice that kind of peculiar change in his environment. He didn’t have the time to linger on that, though - Jaskier decided to stow away that information for later. Without another word, Jaskier left and headed for the stables. He had a funny feeling he would find Eskel there. 

__________

Eskel huffed when Scorpion refused to willingly give up his leg so Eskel could scrape the build-up muck out of his sole. “C’mon boy, it’s just one more hoof and I’m leavin’ you alone.” Scorpion’s response was to let out a high-pitched neigh of disapproval as the stallion kept his foot firmly planted on the ground. Eskel scoffed when Scorpion’s tail whipped him across the face. 

“What was that for?” Eskel rose to his feet and swatted the stallion’s rear, firmly enough to show his displeasure with Scorpion’s behaviour but not so hard as to actually hurt or frighten his mount. Judging by the horse’s moody snort, Eskel’s message was well-received. “Now, are we quite done with the temper tantrum, your Highness?”

“Do all of you witchers talk to your horses like they can understand you?” a familiar voice,  _ Jaskier _ , suddenly spoke. Eskel noticed Scorpion’s ear flicker forward in interest and the witcher was quick to scratch the stallion reassuringly behind the ear. Jaskier peeked inside Scorpion’s stall with interest, his arms propped on the door and his chin resting comfortably on his limbs. Eskel tried to hide the blush creeping up his neck and warming his cheeks from Jaskier.

“Scorpion’s the only companion I have on the Path. Not everyone has the luxury of finding a bard who will follow us on our crazy adventures. Or another witcher, for that matter.” Eskel pretended to busy himself with brushing the dust out of Scorpion’s coat - which in all fairness  _ needed  _ to be done, even though the stallion was in a cranky mood for whatever reason. Perhaps he could feel Eskel’s own agitation. They  _ were  _ linked by destiny, after all. 

“Geralt used to speak to Roach. He would groom her every night, sneak her cubes of sugar and call her ‘a good girl’. It was very endearing, actually,” Jaskier mused, his eyes soft as they came to rest on Eskel and the kindness the witcher saw reflected in those blue pools was - almost too much to bear. Jaskier’s lips looked chapped, an after effect of the cold Eskel guessed, and yet they had never looked more kissable than in that moment. 

Eskel looked away and willed the thoughts of Jaskier’s velvety lips kissing the inside of his wrists. If Eskel concentrated hard enough he could feel the lingering warmth where Jaskier’s mouth had been several days earlier. 

“Our horses are very important. They’re essential for witchers to get from one point to the other, travel great distances between contracts, in a relatively short period of time. And considering some horses can live up to three decades, you’re bound to get attached to the exceptional ones.”

“And Scorpion is exceptional?” Jaskier asked, genuine curiosity lacing his tone. Eskel couldn’t help the soft smile gracing his lips at the memory of how he and Scorpion became acquainted. That smile soon vanished when the uncharacteristically temperamental stallion tried to shove Eskel out of the head with his massive head. 

“He’s exceptionally  _ capricious  _ today, that’s for sure,” Eskel grated, shooting Scorpion a stern look, “ _ you _ are being a dick!”

Scorpion huffed and shoved Eskel again, more forcefully this time. The witcher heaved a tired sigh before tossing the brush back into the bucket near the stall door. 

“Fine, you win!” Eskel’s capitulation seemed to greatly amuse Jaskier if the stifled chortle was anything to go by. The witcher shot the other man an exasperated glare but the sight only encouraged Jaskier to openly laugh at Eskel’s despair. “You enjoying my misery?”

“Oh, dear Eskel, I would  _ never _ .”

Eskel ended up leaving Scorpion’s stall and securely locking the door behind him. For all he knew Scorpion would try to escape with how brave the stallion was feeling today. He went to place the bucket containing his brushes, hoof-picks and shedding blades in one corner of the stables right next to the stall where they now kept the chickens and goats until the worst of winter was over. When Lil’Bleater noticed him, she let out a bleat of greeting. Eskel bleated back without thinking, only realising his mistake once it was too late. 

Eskel expected Jaskier to laugh at him, to mock him, hell, even calling him a weirdo for bleating at goats as if they understood him was a possibility Eskel had considered. The witcher did not, not in his wildest dreams, expect Jaskier to  _ bleat  _ his  _ own  _ greeting to the goats in return. Even Lil’Bleater stared at Jaskier with wide eyes, wondering why this strange human was suddenly bleating at her. 

“Oh. Did I just insult her in goat?” Jaskier asked, suddenly concerned he may have offended Eskel’s favourite goat. Eskel just stared at him. 

“Jaskier, you do know that I don't actually speak goat, right?”

“Oh, uh - right.” Jaskier laughed nervously, his cheeks turning a delightful pink as he avoided Eskel’s gaze. Jaskier’s embarrassment was strangely endearing and a warm feeling unfurled in Eskel’s chest at the sight. “Listen, I came here to apologise.”

“Apologise?” Eskel parroted back in his confusion, “whatever for?”

“You know, for uh… for taking liberties that evening when you… when you were in my room. I shouldn’t have kissed you without your permission, even if it was just your hand.”

“Oh, yeah that. Don’t, uh, don’t worry about it. I’m not upset.”

It wasn’t a lie. Eskel wasn’t  _ upset  _ that Jaskier had kissed him. He was thrilled, he was confused, he wanted Jaskier to kiss him again.  _ Upset  _ didn’t even make the cut. What bothered Eskel was that a kiss was probably not in the cards anymore. What upset Eskel was that he had been too cowardly to take Jaskier up on his offer to meet him in the library the evening that followed the kiss. Eskel felt stupid for avoiding Jaskier, felt foolish for being so self-conscious, felt spineless for not taking his chance at happiness when that chance was  _ right there _ , within arm’s reach. 

Well, maybe he was a little bit upset.

“You aren’t? Then… then why didn’t you… I mean, you haven’t spoken to me in nearly a week so I thought -”

“I’m sorry for being distant,” Eskel gently interrupted Jaskier’s rambling, “Things have been tense around the keep recently. Geralt and Aiden butting heads, Ciri leaving, Lambert being upset with me. I don’t handle awkward situations well and I had to deal with a lot of those recently.”

Technically, Eskel wasn’t lying, insofar as withholding parts of the truth wasn’t the same as lying. At least, that’s what Eskel kept telling himself as he looked Jaskier straight in the eyes and refrained from mentioning that Eskel hadn’t stopped fantasizing about Jaskier’s lips on his hand… and other body parts that the witcher didn’t feel like bringing up in a casual conversation. 

“Oh,” was all Jaskier said as he processed Eskel’s explanation, wearing an expression that suggested the bard felt foolish for not thinking of that sooner, “of course, I’m so sorry. I was concerned with my own emotions that I didn’t even stop to consider how you feel about the whole situation.”

Eskel kept his expression neutral because he feared that his smile would turn into a sneer when his guilt got the better of him.

“Jaskier, you have nothing to apologise for.”

Jaskier beamed at him, like Eskel’s words were the best fucking thing he had heard in weeks, and the sight made Eskel’s insides twist uncomfortably. He didn’t deserve Jaskier’s kindness, not when Eskel was not being completely honest with him. Damn, why was it so fucking difficult to just  _ tell him _ ? 

“You’re too kind, my dear witcher,” declared Jaskier, eyes soft and crinkling at the corners, “so, how did you and Scorpion become acquainted? Tell me everything.”

Eskel was never so grateful for a change of subject. 

“It’s a good story. I saved a knight in Toussaint once. He thought he’d pick a fight with some nekkers in a cave near Beauclair, thought he’d managed to take them down on his own. I saved him and he insisted that he needed to repay me. He offered me the law of surprise, and just because he wouldn’t let the matter go, I accepted. Not a kid this time, but his mare had just foaled.”

Eskel almost didn’t register his slip of the tongue until Jaskier’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.  _ Fuck! Way to put your feet in it, Eskel _ . Jaskier was curious by nature, Eskel was very aware of that. Jaskier’s notorious inquisitiveness was known to Eskel long before he and the bard officially met. Geralt complained about Jaskier’s prying tendencies every winter, grouching at how the bard demanded to know every detail pertaining to Geralt’s contracts. This, in turn, extended to Geralt’s family, his education, his childhood, the trials…. all for the purposes of his songs. It was unfortunate that the bard had happened upon Gearlt, who notoriously had very little patience when it came to entertaining  _ anyone’s  _ curiosity, much less that of a gossiping blabbermouth bard. Eskel’s not-quite-revelation would undoubtedly develop an itch in Jaskier’s mind, an itch that could only be scratched once the bard had satisfied his curiosity. 

The fact that Jaskier  _ didn’t  _ pry could only mean one thing - the bard had noticed Eskel’s visible discomfort and had actively chosen not to press that particular subject further. Eskel valued that decision more than Jaskier could ever understand. 

“Eskel and Scorpion, travel companions by fate, best friends by choice,” Jaskier grinned proudly at his own strike of genius, “yes, this will make for a fine ballad indeed. I shall make you more famous than the white wolf himself.”

“I doubt that I could ever be more famous than the white wolf. I pride myself on being a simple witcher, Jaskier. I don’t have any claims to fame and glory, nor do I have any interest in becoming celebrated for my deeds. I have a job to do, and like any other professional, I want to do it well.”

Jaskier’s eyes shimmered with something akin to admiration, or perhaps even respect, Eskel couldn’t be sure. When the bard placed a hand on Eskel’s shoulder and gave it an affectionate squeeze, the witcher had to try really hard not to flagrantly lean into the touch. 

“I envy you, Eskel. You know what you want in life. You found what pleases you. Being a witcher pleases you, yes? Whereas Geralt seems to have merely resigned himself to his nature, you seem to have fully embraced yours. I find that truly admirable.”

Something primitive in Eskel  _ preened _ at the praise, because  _ fuck  _ it had been a while since anyone had expressed admiration in his favour, and Jaskier’s compliments sounded so genuine, so honest when spoken in this warm and well-meaning tone of voice. 

“No point in bemoaning my condition, what is done is done. It was my Destiny. Admittedly Geralt never used to believe in Destiny.” Eskel paused, pondering whether to voice his next thought. “Don’t you know what pleases you?”

Jaskier heaved a sigh as he retracted his hand from Eskel’s shoulder. 

“Erica is my pride and joy, and I guess being her father pleases me. I haven’t been the best father to her and I still live with that shame which tarnishes that feeling.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself, Jaskier,” Eskel tried to comfort him, but his words came out rougher than he intended them to. 

“I have a lot to make up for, my dear witcher.” There was something in Jaskier’s tone that spoke of guilt, shame and a crushing sense of responsibility the bard felt he did not live up to. Eskel hated how much he could relate to Jaskier in that moment. “What would please me, well - a quiet retirement, perhaps. Move near the coast, dedicate my life to writing and composing, to poetry and song. Give Erica a chance at a better life, a quiet life in the country where she can grow up without a care in the world. A quiet life, that is what would please me. Is that too ambitious do you think, my dear witcher?”

Eskel paused. What Jaskier was describing was not anything Eskel, or any other witcher for that matter, ever allowed themselves to dream of.  _ Witchers don’t retire _ , his instructors used to tell him. Witchers fight until the bitter end. Witchers die out on the Path when they slow and get killed. Witchers never wish for a family, because apparently the mutations took away their ability to feel. Some days Eskel sincerely wished that was true. 

“I don’t think so,” Eskel finally said, because Jaskier and Erica deserved a quiet retirement after all they’d been through, “I think everyone deserves a fresh start.”

“Yes. I suppose you’re right.” Jaskier patted Lil Bleater head one last time before taking a composing breath and putting on a brave smile. “Shall we head inside? It’s quite chilly out here.”

“Sure.”

The two men headed back to the keep in companionable silence.


	14. Chapter 14

It was snowing on the day of yule, bringing the promise of a white winter solstice. 

Vesemir had given everyone the day off, which meant that most of them were still in their own beds several hours after sunrise. Vesemir, ever the insomniac, was busying himself in the kitchen with breakfast and dressing the deer his sons had caught for the occasion. Eskel joined him, tantalised by the smell of pork strips and eggs sizzling away on a flat tray over the fire. Eskel padded softly into the kitchen, hair still tousled from a good night’s sleep, wearing nothing but a baggy shirt, which used to be white but was now tending towards a washed out grey, and black cotton trousers. Vesemir looked up from where he was dressing the deer and raised a single eyebrow at his son’s presentation. 

“It’s not like you not to wash up before breakfast,” Vesemir remarked before returning his attention to the task at hand. Eskel merely offered a small grin in response. 

“It’s yule, old man. Today, everything goes.”

“A day like any other day,” Vesemir argued before flipping over the pork strips and adding a pinch of salt to the eggs. Eskel levelled the older witcher with a look before crossing his arms over his chest. 

“A day like any other day, really? How come you don’t always cook us pork and eggs for breakfast?”

“Because, I don’t want to spoil you boys,” Vesemir remarked sharply, his stern gaze meeting Eskel’s playful one, “the Path won’t be so kind on you and I fatten you up enough as it is when you’re here. If the old instructors were to see this… besides, who said they’re for you and your brothers? Maybe this is  _ my  _ breakfast.”

“You hate eggs.”

Vesemir grumbled something unintelligible under his breath, purposefully looking away from Eskel as he busied himself with the deer carcass once again. Eskel’s grin only grew at the old man’s stubbornness. Despite everything, Vesemir loved spoiling the witchers. When Ciri came along, all his grandfatherly instincts went into overdrive and the girl probably became the most spoiled of them all. It was endearing really, seeing the old witcher doting on the only family he had left. Eskel sometimes wondered if Vesemir missed the old days where he would take care of young boys, training them, taking them under his wing. Eskel remembered very vividly how Barmin and Varin used to chastise Vesemir for growing ‘soft’ on the new recruits. 

There was a reason why Eskel, Geralt, and yes, even Lambert, had come to see Vesemir as the only father they had ever known. 

“Do you need help with anything?” Eskel asked, breaking the short silence. 

“Pup, I gave you the day off. Go back to bed, relax. I’ll keep breakfast warm for you.”

“I’m plenty relaxed, Ves. Just let me help.”

Vesemir heaved a resigned sigh. 

“How about you go take down all that mistletoe around the keep? I don’t know who’s behind it, but they’ve gone overboard whoever it was. Damn weed is hanging in every doorway, in every nook and cranny.”

Eskel couldn’t help the amused chortle that pushed past his lips at the growing irritation in Vesemir’s tone. Poor man had clearly found himself in some compromising positions since the mistletoe started appearing around the keep, and Eskel was dying to find out  _ who exactly  _ Vesemir had found himself under the mistletoe with. 

“It’s a harmless tradition. Probably Triss who put the girls up to it. You know how Ciri loves a good prank, just like her old man in his time.”

This comment earned Eskel a pointed glare from Vesemir.

“Did you and Geralt have a hand in this?” the older witcher suddenly blurted out suspiciously. Eskel raised an eyebrow at the accusatory tone, though his lips curled into a knowing smirk. 

“No. Even if I wanted to rope Geralt into this, he’s been far too busy with Triss to spare anyone a glance.” Eskel spotted some apples to his right, so he lazily stretched out his arm and grabbed one from the pile. It was crunchy under his teeth and slightly sour on the tongue, just how he liked them. “Still, better her than Yennefer.”

“You can say that again, my boy.”

The silence that stretched between them, broken only by the sound of Eskel crunching on his apple and Vesemir cutting up the venison into sizable chunks, was comfortable and familiar. That was what Eskel loved the most about Vesemir - his presence was never invasive. They could happily just stand in the same room and not talk to each other, simply enjoying each other’s presence soothed in the knowledge that they weren’t alone. Eskel’s keen hearing picked up the sound of childish laughter coming from upstairs - Erica and Ciri were awake, it seemed - alongside the frankly  _ unsavoury _ noises coming from Lambert’s room, which Eskel did his best to tune out.

“Kids are awake,” Vesemir pointed out, a soft smile playing on his lips when he heard the pitter-patter of feet running down the staircase and towards the kitchen, “if you were hoping for another couple of hours of peace and quiet, think again.”

Before Eskel had a chance to answer, he heard the door to the kitchen creak open as two excitable girls hurried into the room, stomachs growling loudly at the prospect of breakfast.

“Good morning, uncle Vesemir,” the girls greeted him in unison, followed by an equally rehearsed chorus of, “good morning, uncle Eskel.”

“Morning, girls,” Eskel answered first, soon finding himself with an armful of Erica hugging his leg in greeting. Eskel carded his fingers once through her hair affectionately before the girl pulled away to extend the same treatment to Vesemir. 

“Where are the others?” Vesemir enquired as he absent-mindedly patted Erica’s shoulder in a silent request for the girl to detach herself from his hip so he could remove the strips of bacon from the hot tray. 

“Geralt and uncle Jaskier are in uncle Jaskier’s room,” Ciri told them while eyeing up the plate Vesemir was making up for her, “I don’t know where Miss Merigold is, or where uncle Lambert and Aiden are.”

“Oh, I know where  _ they  _ are,” Eskel mumbled under his breath, earning himself a warning glare from Vesemir. The girls, however, had eyes only for the man serving them breakfast. Vesemir handed Ciri her food before fixing Erica’s plate. Eskel bit back a fond smile when he noticed that the eggs and pork strips on Ciri’s plate had been arranged to form two eyes and a mouth, creating a smiling face. Old wolf was definitely growing soft. Erica thanked Vesemir for her breakfast, giggled at the smiling face on her plate, and then went to sit next to Ciri at the small table near the hearth. Eskel was sorely disappointed when his own breakfast was merely shovelled haphazardly onto a plate and handed to him.    
  
“No smiling face for me?” he teased Vesemir, words which were met with a slap up the back of his head. “You wound me, papa Vesemir.”

“Go sit down and eat your food, pup. You’re lucky I’m cooking you breakfast at all.”

Eskel grinned before grabbing a fork and knife and taking a seat opposite the two girls. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so happy and light.

__________

It was snowing on the day of yule, bringing the promise of a white winter solstice. 

When Jaskier woke up that morning, he felt excitement like he hadn’t felt in a long while. The butterflies in his stomach were going wild at the thought of sharing the gifts he had bought for everyone. Oh, he was certain that Erica would beam at her new dresses and dolls. Her reaction was the one Jaskier was looking forward to the most. Hers, and Eskel’s of course. A by now familiar warmth unfurled in Jaskier’s chest at the thought of Eskel. Jaskier hoped that the cloak he had bought would elicit one of Eskel’s infamous smiles - the kind that made Jaskier’s insides melt to a puddle whenever he saw it. Soft, warm and roguishly handsome. Jaskier closed his eyes and, for a short-lived moment, imagined pulling Eskel under one of the many branches of mistletoe hanging around the keep and bringing their lips together in an innocent kiss. Jaskier wondered what Eskel’s lips would feel like on his own. Would the scar tissue feel rough as their lips slotted against each other? Would Jaskier be able to feel the notch in Eskel’s lip? Would it be distracting? The thought of Eskel’s mouth kissing him, his large hands framing his hips and pulling him closer until Jaskier was pressed against a hot and firm bulge…

Jaskier willed those thoughts away. He  _ couldn’t  _ let himself get all hot and bothered now. Erica would be up any minute and the last thing Jaskier wanted was for her to catch him in a compromising situation. Jaskier heard the sound of idle chatter coming from the girls’ room through his door, which stood slightly ajar. Now that his mood had definitely passed, Jaskier threw his bed covers to the side and wrapped a fur around his shoulders to shield him from the chilliness of the room. He was surprised to hear a familiar baritone voice amidst the girls’ softer ones.    
  
“Geralt, you’re lying. You never killed that kikimore with your bare hands,” Ciri challenged knowingly. Jaskier leaned in the doorway and watched the scene with a fond smile playing on his lips. Geralt was sitting at the edge of Ciri’s bed, the latter comfortably settled in his lap while Erica was pressed to his side, wrapped in her covers for warmth. One of Geralt’s hands rested on Ciri’s lower back for balance and he had tucked Erica safely under his other arm, his free hand resting on the younger girl’s thigh. Jaskier noticed that his friend’s hand was so large it covered nearly the whole of Erica’s upper leg. 

“Were you there?”

“It’s  _ impossible  _ to defeat a kikimore without a silver sword or at least insectoid oil.”

Geralt tsked disapprovingly at Ciri’s words. 

“You have very little faith in me, Ciri.” Then, without looking up, Geralt addressed Jaskier. “Isn’t it right, master bard, that I defeated a kikimore with naught but my own two hands?”

Erica and Ciri giggled at the solemn tone and Geralt’s theatrics. Jaskier felt his heart swell in his chest. Geralt of Rivia, Butcher of Blaviken and White Wolf, an emotionless killing machine… if only the world could see him now. If only the world could see  _ all  _ of the witchers Jaskier had met at Kaer Morhen, then their opinions would inevitably change. Witchers were not dangerous creatures, merely misunderstood ones. Maybe the world wasn’t ready to see witchers in that light. Their fucking loss. 

“Oh aye, I can affirm, dearest children, that master Geralt, legendary White Wolf, did in fact kill the kikimore with his own two hands… and also his own two feet.”

“See?” Geralt’s expression turned serious once again as he addressed Ciri, “The bard is vouching for me. Must be telling the truth.”

“Yeah, right.”

Jaskier barked out a laugh at the princess’ words. Sure enough, Ciri was no fool. Erica detached herself from Geralt’s side and bounced over to her father, who caught her into his arms and brought her up to place a string of loud kisses on her cheek. 

“Morning, daddy. Happy yule!” 

“Happy yule to you too, my sweet girl.” Jaskier could feel Erica vibrating with excitement. He knew exactly what his daughter was after, and while he was dying to see the look on Erica’s face when she opened her presents, he wanted to make her wait a little longer. “Now girls, I think that we should worry about breakfast first before we start the celebrations. It does no good opening presents on an empty stomach!”

“Can we at least open  _ one  _ present before breakfast?” Erica tried to negotiate, but Jaskier stood his ground. 

“No, no, no. Breakfast first, then presents. I’ll be nice and won’t make you wait until everyone’s had their breakfast. That would just be cruel.”

“Vesemir and Eskel are already downstairs,” Geralt placed Ciri on the ground before rising to his feet, “I’d hurry if I were you, before they eat all the food.”

Only once the girls had left the room did Jaskier turn to face his friend with a raised eyebrow. Jaskier hadn’t expected to find Geralt here - not on his day off, which he seemingly only got to enjoy rarely with Vesemir running this keep in near military fashion. Jaskier expected Geralt to use that opportunity to get  _ even better  _ acquainted with the lovely Triss. Geralt merely frowned when Jaskier crossed his arms over his chest.    
  


“What?”

“Trouble in sorceress paradise?” 

The grunt he received in response was all Jaskier needed to hear. So there  _ was  _ something going on, something which Geralt refused to address, in his usual fashion. No changes there. Jaskier bit back a sigh. 

“Triss and I… it’s complicated,” was all the explanation Geralt offered, which admittedly was not much for Jaskier to go on. Thankfully the bard knew his friend better than Geralt knew himself.

“Why? Because she's not Yen? Geralt, dearest friend, when is anything ever easy with you? For someone who adamantly refuses to get involved in the petty squabbles of men, you end up entangled in situations you can’t yourself out of. You’re a mess, Geralt.”

“Don’t mince your words,” Geralt muttered under his breath, but Jaskier knew that his friend valued honesty and plainly spoken words above all else. His frustration was not directed at Jaskier. 

“Whatever relationship problems you and Triss Merigold may have, I don’t really care to find out you’ll be pleased to know-”

“-not as much pleased as shocked,” Geralt interrupted him, an action which Jaskier admonished with a pointed look and by moodily stomping his foot in reprisal.

“ _ As I was saying _ ,” Jaskier carried on as if his friend had not just rudely cut him off, “I think I may have something that might cheer you up. Follow me to my room?”

“Unoriginal as far as propositions go, but I’ll take it.”

Jaskier ignored the smartass comment as he headed for his own room across the corridor. He heard more than saw Geralt follow him. Jaskier turned around and raised a placating hand, which Geralt correctly interpreted as a silent request to stop. 

“Wait here, close your eyes.”

“Jaskier-”

“Aht-aht-aht,” Jaskier smirked playfully, knowing just how hard it was for Geralt to simply  _ be patient _ , “don’t you trust me, my dear friend?”

“As far as I can throw you,” Geralt responded in a huff, but to Jaskier’s pleasure, the white wolf did close his eyes despite the irritated sigh that pushed past his lips. Jaskier added a chirpy ‘no peeking’ before turning his back on his friend and retrieving the bottle of Mahakaman spirit that Jaskier bought in Ard Carraigh. Jaskier sauntered back to where Geralt was standing near the doorway.    
  
“You can open your eyes now,” Jaskier told him. Jaskier was close enough to Geralt to admire the way his slitted pupils adjust to the sudden brightness. Geralt’s eyes instantly fell to the elongated package in Jaskier's hands. The witcher hesitated before carefully reaching out for it, almost as if he worried that Jaskier would snatch it out of reach right before Geralt had a chance to claim it. Jaskier, ever the patient friend, watched with bated breath as his friend took the package from him and unwrapped it with dextrous fingers. 

“Mahakaman spirit?” said Geralt flatly as his eyes read the label affixed to the bottle.  _ Finest Mahakaman Spirit, 1218 vintage _ . “Fuck, and a good bottle at that.”

Jaskier watched as his friend’s eyes widened in surprise at the vintage - Jaskier was ready to bet that a nearly 50 year old bottle was not something the white wolf had often encountered in his lifetime. Thankfully, Jaskier knew his way around spirits and he also knew exactly how to negotiate a lower price from dwarven merchants. When Geralt looked up, his brows were set in a confused frown.

“What’s the occasion?”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow at that.

“Really? You really have to ask? Happy yule, Geralt. I wanted to thank all of you for taking me and Erica in, so when Aiden and I went to Ard Carraigh we got some presents for everyone.” Jaskier made a vague gesture with his right hand. “This humble gift is a token of my gratitude.”

“But… I haven’t got you anything,” Geralt pointed out, sounding genuinely distressed at the thought. Jaskier smiled indulgently at his friend. 

“That wasn’t the point of me giving you this gift. You opened your home to me. I can’t possibly begin to repay you for keeping me safe from Dijkstra, but… this gift, it’s a start.”

Jaskier could almost see the cogs in Geralt’s mind turning and whirring as the witcher tried to make sense of his friend’s words. Jaskier could not fight the amused smirk tugging at his lips. Poor Geralt looked this close to having an aneurysm. 

“You know, a simple ‘thank you’ is enough, I don’t need a eulogy.”

“Thank you,” Geralt blurted out like he only just remembered his manners, “thank you Jaskier, this is… this is too much.”

“Oh, pish posh,” Jaskier easily brushed off Geralt’s words, “enjoy it, old friend. In moderation, of course… or not. I’m not your mother, do what you want.”

As Jaskier went to leave the room to join the others downstairs for breakfast, he felt two strong arms pull him back and crush him against a firm chest. Jaskier can’t remember Geralt ever hugging him and he certainly wasn’t about to complain. A warm feeling unfurled in Jaskier’s chest as he returned the embrace and felt Geralt pull back just enough so he could press his forehead against Jaskier’s.  _ Affection. _ Geralt was never good with words, but his actions spoke volumes. 

“Come now, old friend. Let us meet the others downstairs. I’m famished.”

Geralt’s stomach responded with loud gurgling, pulling a round chortle from Jaskier. No words were exchanged on their way to the kitchen, but the edges of Geralt’s lips were curled into a permanent smile for the remainder of the day. 

__________

It was snowing on the day of yule, bringing the promise of a white winter solstice. 

Not that the girls cared much for the powdery white covering the courtyard and valley of Kaer Morhen. Erica and Ciri were far too busy opening the presents that Aiden and Jaskier had taken back from Ard Carraigh. Jaskier had taken down everyone’s gifts after breakfast, expecting Lambert and Aiden to join them, but there was still no sign of the two witchers. Triss was the only one who had taken the time to dress up. She was wearing a flowy dark green dress, cinched at the waist by a golden belt. She was also wearing a fluffy scarf made of white rabbit pelt and had taken the time to put her face on. The vanity of sorceresses was well-known…

As Jaskier expected, Erica was thrilled with her new dresses. She was holding them to her body and twirled around the room, taking time to stop next to every witcher and ask them for their opinion. She was met with a chorus of flatly-spoken ‘very nice’ from the men, whereas Triss cooed and marvelled at the dresses in a way that was much more befitting of their beauty. 

“Oh my, Erica, you’ll look truly gorgeous in that blue one!”

“I can wear it to a ball when I’m older.” Erica’s eyes sparkled with barely contained excitement at the prospect. “I’ll be the prettiest girl there if I wear that dress.”

“You better believe it, sweetheart,” Triss agreed with her, a soft smile gracing her pink lips, “every boy there will want to dance with you.”

While Erica was busy discussing her new wardrobe with Triss, Ciri was unwrapping her own presents. The stationary set went down like a treat. Ciri carried it over to Geralt soon as she had fully unwrapped it, presenting it to him proudly. 

“Look, it’s pretty parchment too,” Ciri explained like Geralt was too daft to see that for himself, “and look at that quill! Do you think it’s a griffin feather?”

“Goose, probably,” Geralt corrected as he inspected the feather more closely, “no, swan. A very nice quill.”

“Do you think you can bring me back a griffin feather one day? Or a cockatrice feather?”

Jaskier saw Geralt grimace at the thought of putting his life on the line for the sake of a quill, but one look at Ciri’s pleading eyes had the witcher visibly melting in his seat. Geralt’s expression softened when Ciri, who was standing between his legs, wrapped her arms around his midriff and placed her chin on his chest so she could look up at him with pleading eyes. 

“You’re a menace, child,” Geralt fondly ruffled Ciri’s already tangled hair, “go open your other gifts.”

Ciri didn’t have to be told twice. She bounded back to her pile of packages, followed closely by Erica, and the girls began unwrapping the smaller gifts that Aiden got them. They were mostly knick-knacks - dolls, figurines carved in wood, spinning tops, sweets - but the girls loved everything they unwrapped, no matter the shape or size. Seeing their young faces brighten with joy at each gift was heartwarming, a feeling that was shared by everyone sitting around the table judging by the fond expressions the witchers and Triss wore. 

Aiden and Lambert joined them just as the girls finished unwrapping their last gifts, and Ciri and Erica wasted no time throwing themselves at the two late-comers. While Lambert looked like he wanted to bolt, Aiden seemed perfectly at ease letting the girls tug at his arms and legs urgently and guiding him to the middle of the room so they could show him the gifts they received. Lambert, in the meantime, sneaked off to the table and was promptly offered a plate of food that the younger wolf all but inhaled. 

“Late morning for you, pup,” Vesemir commented, earning himself a grunt in response. 

“You gave us the day off, that never happens,” Lambert mumbled around a mouthful of eggs, “wanted to make the most of it.”

“Yeah, we  _ heard _ ,” Eskel teased, earning himself a kick in the shin under the table, courtesy of Lambert. “Ow! Now, where’s your yule spirit?”

“Shut up. Too early for this.”

“Slackass,” Eskel retorted, though Jaskier could see the amused twinkle in the witcher’s eyes, “probably wouldn’t even have bothered to come down if you didn’t smell food.”

“Is that really how you want to start the holiday? By being a little prick?”

"Better than having a little prick." 

“Enough,” Vesemir interrupted the bickering before it could devolve into a full-blown argument, “Eskel, stop trying to get a rise out of your brother, and Lambert, stop making yourself such an easy target.”

“He started it!” Lambert grumbled moodily under his breath before taking a swig of the ale Vesemir had warmed for him. Jaskier decided to diffuse the tension by giving Erica the signal to give Lambert his present. Jaskier had a feeling that the prickly wolf would feel uncomfortable accepting a gift from, well, anyone really, especially if he was unable to reciprocate the gesture. So they had come up with a plan at breakfast and decided that Erica and Ciri would be handing over Lambert’s gift to him. Jaskier was convinced that he would not turn down a present from the girls. 

Erica tugged at the hem of Lambert’s shirt, the action pulling him out of his brooding. Ciri and Erica were looking at him with cheeky grins on their faces as they held the box containing Lambert’s new alchemy set between them. Jaskier was amazed that the girls hadn't dropped the heavy box yet. Lambert glanced at the two girls, his eyes darting between Ciri, Erica, and the mysterious box in their hands. 

“What’s that you got there?”

The girls shared a complicit look and their mischievous grins grew. Lambert frowned at the sight, every muscle in his body taut and ready to fight off whatever trick the girls were about to pull on him. 

“It’s a present for you, uncle Lambert,” Erica announced proudly, her eyes darting to Jaskier as she sought reassurance. Jaskier nodded encouragingly at her, mouthing the next words that fell from his daughter’s lips along with her, just like they had rehearsed at breakfast. “A present for being a good and patient instructor to me and Ciri.”

“And also because you’re the best uncle there ever was,” Ciri added for good measure. Vesemir cleared his throat loudly at the girl’s announcement, grumbling a quick ‘none taken’ irritably under his breath. If Eskel was at all offended at being upstaged by Lambert in the uncle department, he did not show it. Jaskier let his eyes linger on Eskel for a minute longer than was strictly necessary, admiring the witcher’s relaxed stance and the affectionate look in his eyes as he watched Erica and Ciri hand a very disconcerted Lambert his gift. 

“Well,” Lambert kept his voice steady and composed, like he was not completely thrown off by the kind gesture. He carefully gathered the box from the girls’ hands. “That’s very nice of you kids.”

“Open it!” Erica urged him, her eyes wide and shimmering with excitement, “open it, uncle Lambert, I want to see.”

“Is it my present or your present?” Lambert teased Erica before prodding her soft belly with his index finger, pulling a high-pitched giggle from the girl, “Thought so, little menace.”

Lambert did eventually open the box and revealed its contents to everyone. If Jaskier wasn’t as well-versed in the non-verbal language of witchers, he certainly would have missed the way Lambert’s eyes widened in surprise for a fraction of a second before the youngest witcher schooled his expression into one of neutrality. Jaskier would have also missed the way Lambert’s lips twitched, as if aiming for a smile but catching himself right at the last minute. What Jaskier did not expect was the glare Lambert shot him from across the table. 

“You’re behind this, aren’t you?” Jaskier answered with a cheeky smile and a wink for good measure. Lambert levelled the bard with one last look before turning his attention to the girls again, who were expectantly waiting for his reaction. Lambert managed a tense smile bordering on shy. “Thank you, kiddos. I like it very much. I’m sorry I have nothing to give you in return.”

Lambert’s eyes darted to Jaskier again as he spoke those words and his earlier glare suddenly made more sense. Lambert felt like he had to give something back. Jaskier bit back an irritated sigh. Those witchers were exhausting. Lambert didn’t have to pay him back, nor did he have to gift him amything in return. They had saved Jaskier a whole lot of trouble by opening their home to him. This was Jaskier’s way of repaying  _ them,  _ for their hospitality, their kindness and their patience, not the other way around. 

“It’s okay, uncle Lambert,” Erica looked guilty as she spoke those words, “Truth us, Ciri and I didn’t buy your present.”

Lambert softened at the admission, the tenseness in his shoulder dissipating as he leaned forward to ruffle Erica’s hair fondly. 

“Don’t worry your pretty head about it, kid. I love it.”

And even though Lambert wouldn’t be called dead admitting it, he spent the rest of winter making sure Jaskier and Erica wanted for nothing. Jaskier would return to his room to find an additional blanket on his bed, or a hot mug of tea sitting on the bedside table. Lambert had forfeited his preferred seat near the fire at meal times in favour of the much more drafty seat that Jaskier tended to occupy, and whenever he was in charge of cooking he would save the best bit of meat for Jaskier. 

__________

As the afternoon dragged on, the keep’s inhabitants inevitably got caught under the various mistletoe branches hanging around the castle. Aiden and Lambert seemed to always ‘accidentally’ end up snogging in random doorways for the sake of ‘keeping up traditions’. Eskel and Geralt were caught by Ciri standing under the mistletoe in the entrance hall, and while Geralt looked positively horrified at the thought of having to kiss Eskel, the latter wore a playful grin on his lips as he trapped Geralt into a headlock and placed a sloppy kiss on his brother’s cheek. Vesemir and Lambert nearly got caught out, but Lambert let the old witcher step into the kitchen first before following. Jaskier, who had witnessed the scene, wasn’t able to bite back a smile at the way the two witchers awkwardly danced around each other. Jaskier and Aiden kissed under the mistletoe hanging in the mess hall, and Aiden seemingly had no qualms placing a quick peck on Jaskier’s lips. ‘No harm in a little kiss, is there, bard?’

Jaskier tried not to think of Eskel when the innocent kiss was exchanged.

Through the day, Jaskier managed to corner Vesemir to give him the bottle of pepper vodka he bought in Ard Carraigh. The old wolf was much more open with his gratitude and even pulled Jaskier into a tight fatherly hug. A heartfelt ‘thank you’ was whispered between them and Jaskier basked in the warm embrace of the oldest witcher. Later in the afternoon, Jaskier found Triss tending to her mare in the stables. She squealed with delight at the sight of the delicate golden bracelet. 

“It isn’t much,” Jaskier told her self-consciously, “but you don’t need extravagance to bring out your natural beauty.”

“Oh, flattery will get you anywhere, bard.”

It was a lot more difficult to find Aiden when he wasn’t glued to Lambert’s lips, and after the third failed attempt of getting to talk to the Cat witcher alone, Jaskier decided to leave his present on his bed for Aiden to find before dinner. He hoped that Aiden and Lambert wouldn’t mind Jaskier waltzing into their room without asking, but it was not like Jaskier lingered there. He deposited the rosewood pipe on the bed and slipped out of the room again, heart racing as he mentally prepared himself to give away his last present. 

Jaskier didn’t understand why he was so nervous at the thought of giving Eskel his gift. Maybe he worried that Eskel wouldn’t like the cloak, which was frankly ridiculous, but Jaskier couldn’t help it. Before he knew it, Jaskier was knocking on Eskel's bedroom door. He wasn’t sure if he would find Eskel there, but it was as good a place as any to start. Jaskier didn’t have to wait long to get an answer. 

“Jaskier?” Eskel sounded surprised to find him standing outside his room when he opened the door. “What can I do for you?”

“Actually, Eskel my dear, I was wondering if you could spare a moment? There’s something I’d like to show you.”

“Oh. Yes, of course.” Eskel stepped out of his room and shut the door behind him before Jaskier had a chance to peek inside. Probably just as well. After all, curiosity  _ did  _ kill the cat. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine, my friend,” Jaskier was quick to reassure him. His hand came up to rest on Eskel’s arm as both men headed down the corridor to Jaskier’s room, “Enjoying your day off?”

“To be honest I hardly know what to do with myself,” Eskel only half-joked, “I like to keep busy. I’d be lying if I said that I don't feel the urge to pick up a trowel and patch up various holes in the walls.”

Jaskier wholeheartedly believed that and he made it his job to ensure that Eskel took full advantage of his day off. He would start off by giving him the cloak and they would take it from there. Jaskier guided Eskel into his room and, after softly shutting the door behind them, pulled Eskel by his arms to stand in the middle of the room. Eskel eyed him suspiciously, but Jaskier noticed the hint of a smirk tugging at the scarred lips. 

“Mark me down as both intrigued and concerned.”

“None of that, dear witcher. Turn around.” 

“Excuse me?” Eskel’s brows furrowed at Jaskier’s words. 

“I said, turn around. Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad. Just don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

Eskel did as he was told, albeit reluctantly, and only once his back was fully turned to him did Jaskier retrieve the thick cloak from under his bed where it had been hiding all along. The cloak felt warm and heavy in Jaskier’s hands as he carefully deposited it on the bed for Eskel to find. Instead of using his words to let Eskel know he could turn around, Jaskier sauntered over to him and gently caught his wrist to get his attention. Their eyes met and Jaskier flashed Eskel a radiant smile. 

“I have a present for you. To thank you for everything you’ve done for me and my daughter.”

The words took Eskel by surprise and if Jaskier didn’t know any better he would say that the witcher’s cheeks flushed pink at the revelation. Eskel’s embarrassment became undeniable when he brought up his free hand to paw at his scars, taking comfort in the familiarity of the gesture. 

“That’s, uh, very kind Jaskier but…”

“Oh my dear, don’t tell me you’re turning down a gift when you don’t even know what it is yet,” Jaskier chastised Eskel before the latter had a chance to object, “now come, show us some courtesy and at least take a look at what I got you. I promise you I won’t be offended if you decide that you don’t like it.”

Jaskier tugged at Eskel’s wrist, encouraging the witcher to turn around, but rather than look at the bed where his gift had so carefully been laid out for him Eskel seemed to have eyes only for Jaskier. So much so that the bard felt slightly uncomfortable under the scrutiny of Eskel’s amber gaze. 

“There it is,” Jaskier announced, waving at the bed. Eskel only reluctantly looked away. Jaskier watched with bated breath as Eskel’s expression changed from quizzical, to confused, to ecstatic all within the span of several seconds. Jaskier would never fail to be amazed at the range of emotions the witchers, wrongly labelled as coldhearted beasts, could muster. Eskel took several hesitant steps towards the bed, reaching out for the cloak once he was close enough. Jaskier watched him pick up the garment and feel the softness of the rabbit pelt under his sword-calloused fingers. The black wool, though not as soft as the rabbit fur, would protect Eskel both from the cold and the rain. Eskel admired the cloak from every angle, his fingers lingering on the silver clasp, before trying it on for size by throwing it over his broad shoulders. Jaskier noticed with satisfaction that the cloak wasn’t too short, reaching just above the back of Eskel’s knees. It fit perfectly. 

“It’s so warm,” Eskel marvelled in an uncharacteristically hushed voice, the gravel in his voice replaced by a much softer tone, “and comfortable.”

“Aiden overheard you telling Vesemir that you needed a new cloak. I thought this one would suit you beautifully… and I was right,” Jaskier added, feeling bold. The smile his words earned him was worth the risk. 

“This is a bespoke cloak, Jaskier. It’s… it’s too much, I can’t accept-”

“None of that, my dear witcher,” Jaskier immediately dismissed Eskel, “I won’t go over this again. The cloak is yours and I’m glad you like it.”

“Like it?” Eskel stared at Jaskier like he had just grown a second head, “that’s an unfortunate understatement. This is officially the most valuable thing I own.”

Oh, and if Jaskier’s heart didn’t flip at the admission. 

“Happy yule, Eskel.”

A small smile graced Eskel’s lips.   
  
“Happy yule, Jaskier. You’ll have to forgive me, but I have nothing to offer you in return.”

Jaskier bit back the comment sitting on the tip of his tongue, something about a kiss being fair payment for such a bespoke cloak, as Eskel described it. Jaskier stepped closer to Eskel instead, spreading his arms in a silent invitation. Eskel, to Jaskier’s surprise, didn’t begrudge him this hug. His strong arms wound themselves around Jaskier’s leaner frame, arms strong enough to carry the weight of the whole world but instead choosing to hold this fragile bard for the time being. Jaskier melted into the embrace and discreetly buried his nose in Eskel’s shoulder, taking in the smell of new wool and the underlying scent of Eskel. It felt nice, just being held, but the moment didn’t last nearly as long as Jaskier would have hoped. When Eskel pulled back, he was wearing a childlike smile on his face. 

“I love my gift, Jaskier. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.”

If Jaskier were a braver man, he would lean in for a kiss right about then. 

“My pleasure, dear witcher. Now you’ll have something on the Path to remember me by.”

Unfortunately for him, Jaskier wasn’t a brave man.

__________

Dinner was a lavish affair. Vesemir had truly spoiled them for the occasion. The venison slowly simmered over the fire all day, leaving the meat tender enough that it melted in Jaskier’s mouth when he took a bite. Jaskier could taste the red wine Vesemir used for the stew, probably the same wine they had been served to drink. The stew was served with roast potatoes, steamed vegetables, and bread rolls that Vesemir had made from scratch. Nobody spoke as they wolfed down their meals, washing down the venison with swigs of Est Est from Toussaint, or in the girls’ case, freshly pressed apple juice. Once their plates had been scraped clean and the conversation around the table resumed, it didn’t take long for Erica to request a song from her father. 

“Please, daddy, sing us a song!” she pleaded, her lower lip sticking out in an adorable pout. 

“Yes uncle Jaskier, please sing us a yule song. The bards would always sing for my grandmamma in Cintra,” Ciri chimed in, cheeks rosy from sitting close to the fire and leaning into Geralt’s body heat all evening.

“Why, how can I refuse such enthusiasm?” Jaskier winked conspiratorially at the girls. “Any requests, princess?”

“My grandmamma’s favourite carol was Good King Wenceslas,” Ciri’s tone was laced with melancholy as she spoke those words, “would you mind terribly?” 

“Of course not, sweetheart. Now, where did I put my lute?”

Jaskier’s lute was, in fact, propped up against the wall near the hearth. He had taken it down thinking he might be asked to entertain his audience. He wasn’t disappointed on that front. When Jaskier had retrieved and tuned his lute, he returned to his assigned seat and warmed up his fingers with a quick strum.    
  
“Good King Wenceslas it is,” he announced before playing the familiar chords. He had learned most traditional yule songs at Oxenfurt - it was how he survived the winter months when the Academy shut its doors at the end of the semester. His fingers pluck at the chords, muscle memory guiding his movements. 

_ Good King Wenceslas looked out,  _

_ On the feast of Stephen, _

_ When the snow lay round about _

_ Deep and crisp and even _

_ Brightly shone the moon that night _

_ Though the frost was cruel _

_ When a poor man came in sight _

_ Gathering winter fuel _

Ciri and Erica were humming along with Jaskier during the first stanza, but properly joined in for the second stanza. Jaskier noticed Vesemir tapping the table rhythmically, while Geralt and Lambert were trying hard not to hum the familiar tune under their breaths. Jaskier met Eskel’s gaze and winked, earning himself a lopsided grin and a raised tankard of ale. Aiden and Triss, on the other hand, looked like they were thoroughly enjoying themselves. The Est Est had probably gone straight to his head. 

The last thing anyone expected was for Aiden to join in halfway through the song. The action was so sudden and unanticipated that the girls and Jaskier were left speechless while Aiden took over the third stanza.  _ Bring me flesh and bring me wine, bring me pine logs hither _ … Jaskier carried on playing, thanks to his muscle memory keeping his fingers going despite his surprise. He recovered quickly, however, certainly much faster than everyone else around the table. Well, everyone except for Lambert, who was grinning proudly at Aiden from his seat. Aiden’s voice was nothing short of captivating. The rich timbre of his voice resonated in the mess hall, sending chills down Jaskier’s spine. Jaskier joined Aiden in an improvised duo for the last stanza. 

_ In his master’s step he trod _

_ Where the snow lay dinted _

_ Heat was in the very sod _

_ Which the Saint had printed _

_ Therefore, my good men, be sure _

_ Wealth or rank possessing _

_ Ye, who now will bless the poor _

_ Shall yourselves find blessing.  _

Their performance earned them enthusiastic applause from Triss, Ciri and Erica, a wolf-whistle from Lambert and reluctant smiles from Geralt and Vesemir. Underwhelming as far as reactions went, but it was marginally better than having bread thrown at him like the time he and Geralt met in Posada.  _ Beggars can’t be choosers _ . 

“I didn’t know you could sing, Aiden,” Eskel remarked in a friendly tone. Whether it was the wine lubricating his mind and tongue, or whether Eskel was genuinely impressed by the performance didn’t really matter. Some of the tension in Lambert’s shoulders seemed to disappear when Aiden and Eskel started talking about Aiden’s passion for music. Some time during the conversation, Aiden pulled out his new pipe and started smoking in the mess hall

The rich smell of tobacco soon started filling the room. 

Jaskier and Aiden sang more carols together, and after the girls had been shown to their beds, they delved into more suggestive repertoires. They drank, they sang, they laughed, and (a very drunk) Geralt contributed to the merriment by performing the very  _ charming  _ verses about the maid of Vicovaro, much to Triss' annoyance. “Once was a maid from Vicovaro, tight at night, she'd be loose com 'morrow, early in the morning! Another maid from Vicavaro, ploughed with pleasure, drank with sorrow, till early in the morning! Our third maid was not demanding, gave it up to any man standing, early in the morning!” Eskel and Lambert cackled at their brother’s display, as much in response to the lyrics as to the sight of Geralt butchering the song and being smacked up the back of his head by Triss. 

All was good. Jaskier had not felt this light in months. Years, even. 

Vesemir and Triss retreated to their respective rooms first, followed by Aiden and Lambert who had reached a point of drunkenness where they refused to keep their hands off each other. This left Geralt, Eskel and Jaskier as the last men standing. The wine was forfeited in favour of stronger alcohol. Vodka and Lambert’s moonshine. Geralt and Eskel played several rounds of Gwent, both far too drunk to follow any kind of strategy and thus doing very poorly. Then again, Jaskier probably wouldn’t have fared much better. Geralt eventually got bored and decided to follow Triss upstairs. 

And then there were two. 

“I’m so drunk,” Jaskier admitted, his words punctuated by drunken giggling, “oh, my head is spinning.”

“Mmh. Tomorrow’s gonna be rough,” Eskel agreed. He went to grab his cup of moonshine but missed it by several inches. His brows furrowed in concentration as he focused on grabbing the cup in his far too large hand. Fuck, when had Jaskier started fantasising about these hands around his…

“More moonshine?” Eskel asked, waving the half-empty bottle in Jaskier’s face. 

“N-no, darling, I think  _ hic  _ I think I’ve had enough for one ni- _ hic _ -ight.”

Jaskier’s involuntary hiccoughing pulled an amused chuckle from Eskel. The alcohol was clearly starting to get to his head, Jaskier could tell, but the bard couldn’t bring himself to care, not when Eskel looked so carefree and euphoric. His nose had turned an interesting shade of red over the course of the evening. 

“I really enjoy’d dinner tonight,” Eskel admitted, his speech slightly slurred, “an’ ‘s thanks to you, Jaskier.” 

“I can’t believe  _ hic  _ you never used to celebrate  _ hic  _ yule…” Jaskier suppressed a burp and raked a hand through his tousled hair. Eskel shrugged his shoulders.

“Like master Varin used t’ say, this place ain’t a holiday retreat.”

“You mean to tell me that you didn’t even use to celebrate it as kids?” Eskel was not so considerate as to suppress his burp, though he had enough presence of mind to cover his mouth first. He shook his head and heaved a deep-rooted sigh. “Eskel, that’s.... That’s so sad.”

“Can’t miss somethin’ you never had, y’know?”

“You were boys. You were  _ kids _ .” 

“We were witcher apprentices.” Eskel corrected, like this simple fact explained why they were never allowed to be children, but Jaskier refused to accept this as justification for the way they were treated. The conversation was enough to sober up both Eskel and Jaskier.

“Kids. You were kids,” Jaskier insisted. 

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Eskel quickly changed the subject and put on an easy smile, but Jaskier was no fool, “we’re grown witchers now. Ain’t much space in our lives for celebrations.”

Jaskier wanted to argue, wanted Eskel to understand that their lives didn’t have to be miserable all the time, but it felt like a lost cause from the start. Eskel, much like the other witchers, had spent so long believing that simply because he was a witcher he didn’t deserve to enjoy the finer pleasures in life. It would take Jaskier more than one evening to convince him that the opposite was true. This evening, this little respite from their otherwise lonely life on the Path, was hopefully the start of something new. Hopefully Eskel and the others would soon realise that they were allowed small comforts. 

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself tonight, my dear, but I think we should call it a night.”

“Yeah.” Eskel agreed before rising to his feet shakily and stretching his arms far above his head. Jaskier heard something in Eskel’s back give a satisfying pop. “Probably wise.”

“Walk me to my room, Eskel?” Jaskier asked as he hooked an arm around Eskel’s bicep, fluttering his eyelashes shamelessly at him. The witcher smiled indulgently at Jaskier, his mind probably still befuddled from all the booze he had imbibed. Jaskier wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Besides, he had a plan to see through. He guided Eskel out of the mess hall, both men holding onto each other for support. Once they both stepped through the doorway, Jaskier let out a dramatic gasp. 

In hindsight, Jaskier maybe had had too much to drink.

“Oh. Oh boy, would you look at that,” Jaskier declared, his eyes staring at the mistletoe hanging from the doorframe. Eskel followed his gaze, frowning when he spotted the treacherous branch. 

“Huh.” 

When Eskel and Jaskier’s gazes met again, Jaskier noticed the way Eskel’s Adam’s apple visibly bobbed as he swallowed thickly. He yet had to turn Jaskier down. Jaskier’s eyes dropped to Eskel’s lips, admiring the gentle curve of his Cupid’s bow and appreciating the contrast between the smooth fullness on one side, and the angry-looking scars on the other. Gods, Jaskier so desperately wanted to feel those lips move against his. 

And Eskel yet had to move away. 

“Eskel… I would very much like to kiss you.” Jaskier’s lips were mere inches away from Eskel’s at that point, close enough so that the witcher could feel Jaskier’s hot breath against his skin. Jaskier dared to look up into Eskel’s eyes. He saw the dilated pupils he found there as a good sign, but there was something else reflected in the amber orbs.  _ Insecurity _ . 

“If that’s what you want…”

“No, dear heart. No, this isn’t just about me,” Jaskier insisted, the term of endearment slipping out without him meaning to, “ _ you  _ need to want this, too. Do you want me to kiss you, Eskel?”

There was a short pause during which Eskel’s tongue darted out to lick his suddenly very dry lips. Jaskier was mesmerised by the sight, unable to tear his eyes from the now slick lips. Gods, he hoped Eskel wanted this as much as he did. He truly did… 

“I really want you to kiss me, Jaskier.” That was all the encouragement Jaskier needed to close the distance between them. 

It was snowing on the day of yule, bringing the promise of a white winter. None of that really mattered to Jaskier, who was far too lost in the sensation of Eskel’s lips moving against his, and the feeling of warm hands encasing his hips almost possessively and pulling him closer to a firm body. The kiss was sloppy, more teeth than anything else, and they could both taste the alcohol on each other’s breaths, but Jaskier didn't find it in himself to care, too high on the taste of  _ Eskel  _ on his tongue. 

Jaskier wished the moment would never end. He should've known that all good things come to an end. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They kissed. Omg they kissed. Omg... oh, I almost feel bad for what's to come.


End file.
